


Irreverent

by imaginesandinserts



Series: Irreverent Series [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miscarriage, Mutual Pining, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 197,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26873686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginesandinserts/pseuds/imaginesandinserts
Summary: People fall in love differently. Some fall - quickly, deeply, permanently. Others stumble into it. What matters is that they end up at the same place.I also write and update a little extra stuff on my tumblr in case you're interested: https://imaginesandinserts.tumblr.com/
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Original Female Character(s), Aaron Hotchner & Reader, Aaron Hotchner & You, Aaron Hotchner/Original Character(s), Aaron Hotchner/Original Female Character(s), Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Aaron Hotchner/You, Derek Morgan/Reader
Series: Irreverent Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018867
Comments: 257
Kudos: 369





	1. Flashback

You felt like you were being choked, the shock of the truth having stolen your ability to regulate your breathing.

Things had been bad and you knew he wasn't a kind person, but you had believed he loved you…loved your family.

You looked back towards the stands and saw your friends celebrating and you desperately wished you could go back in time to a few minutes ago. Before you knew.

You saw them walking towards you and knew you had just moments to compose yourself. Taking a deep shuddering breath, you turned and thanked your bearer of bad news. Thanked him for telling you the truth and saving you.

This was it. It was the final time you did something you had to, for them, for him.

It's over.


	2. Round Table

"Why're we here so early if there isn't a case JJ?" Morgan asked as he yawned into his coffee mug. 

"I couldn't tell you. Hotch called the meeting and said it was urgent, so you'll have to wait and ask him." she responded, right as Hotch entered the room with Rossi, carrying a large stack of folders. 

"Good morning everyone. Thank you all for coming in." Hotch paused and assessed the room of sleepy colleagues, noting Reid's especially frumpled hair, before continuing, "I know we don't have a case, but the BAU has been approved to receive another agent to expand our resources since we've had a pretty good run recently and the Director is liking our success rate. So, good job to everyone here." 

"Hotch, that's great and all, but why're we here?" Morgan asked, looking around the room at the rest of the team nodding along. 

Hotch had anticipated the question and had discussed his reasoning for bringing in the whole team for the assessment with Rossi earlier, who had wholeheartedly agreed with his idea.   
"As you all know, the team dynamic is crucial to how well we do our jobs. Because of that, I want us each to go through the applications and pick three people we'd want to interview. The three applicants with the most votes will then come in for an in person interview with the full team so you will all have an opportunity to gauge their fit." 

"Well then, I guess today is going to be fun. Instead of UnSubs we get to profile our future teammate." Prentiss and JJ laughed at Morgan's statement and the team got to work. 

Six hours, a couple of pizzas, and a lot of back and forth chatter later, they had all picked their favorites after looking at the applicants and their histories. Garcia had managed to run a comprehensive social media check and had pulled up each of their profiles to be judged and ridiculed by the FBI's top profilers. At the end they had picked three people for in-person interviews later that week - Charlotte Richards with 5 votes, Elliot Greenberg with 6 votes, and Y/N L/N with all 7 votes.


	3. SSA Hotchner

Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner had been locked in his office all day. He had been served divorce papers by Haley earlier in the week and had resolved to give her everything she asked for in exchange for seeing his son whenever he possibly could. 

How they'd gotten to this point was now incomprehensible no matter how much he tried to make sense of it. He loved her. She loved him. But she needed more from him as a husband than he was able to give. Maybe he'd be able to do more by exactly what she asked for his his absence. 

Rossi was worried about him. He could feel the team's eyes on him, as undoubtedly they all knew - nothing stayed secret for long around a group of people whose job it was to get into everyone's business. Prentiss and Morgan gave him sympathetic looks whenever he caught their eye. JJ had brought in donuts from that place on the corner of 5th and Broadway that morning, and Garcia had tried to give him a hug which he awkwardly reciprocated. Reid had been mostly oblivious but even he had caught on to the mood and was - in his own way - being kinder to Hotch by randomly bringing up facts about the Beatles, new journals on criminal psychology, and other things he knew Hotch was interested in. 

He had received an email that morning with budget approvals and the BAU had been approved to receive another Agent. Strauss had of course put her two cents in and dropped off a couple of resumes she wanted him to pay special attention to for her own political reasons. As Hotch signed the final page of the proceedings, he looked down into the Bullpen and saw his team working on reports from their latest case. He found himself wondering how he was meant to sift through the bright-eyed and freshly approved Agents and find one who'd fit into the group of people he had come to consider family.


	4. Interview

You got up in the morning with a pit of dread blooming in your stomach. The night before had been a lot of tossing and turning with minimal sleep. Today was it, make or break.

Getting ready and out the door was a breeze, as you'd planned this morning to the very last detail, leaving absolutely nothing to chance. As you exited the hotel and caught a cab to Quantico, you ran through the game plan over and over in your head. There was no longer any time to second guess the approach. You had done your research and you had thought this through. At the end of it, your goal was to make an impression. You quickly stifled the small voice in your head that warned you that it was a risky approach and could blow up in your face. It had to work. I just had to.

Entering the building and getting your visitors credential was easy - you were expected. As you walked towards the elevators, you saw the door opening and your classmates Charlotte and Elliot walked out together. You were unsurprised to see Charlotte there - she was accomplished and well spoken with a good head on her shoulders. You were surprised to see Elliot who was known to be a bit of a showboat but you liked him just the same. You smiled at them both as you quickly grabbed the doors before they closed on you.

As you exited the elevator, you caught sight of Erin Strauss walking towards you. You had met Strauss before when she had come to speak to your class about her team and the BAU's success. After her speech, you'd gone up and introduced yourself and spoken with her briefly. Later that week you'd gotten a call from her assistant, asking you to attend a Women in the FBI Mentorship event where she spoke at length of the value of female mentorship. You had since attended a couple of those events and she had made small talk with you at each one. You had your suspicions regarding her interest in you, but seeing as she was the Section Chief of the BAU, you made sure to always show her the utmost respect and admiration.

"Y/N! It's so good to see you" Strauss said as you approached one another. "I am so glad Aaron chose to interview you."

"Chief Strauss, thank you so much. I'm sure that you had at least something to do with that," you responded, knowing she'd react well to that kind of adulation.

"Oh please, I just nudged along the best of the best. But you should know, every single member of that team chose to interview you. And you're the only one who got every single vote."

Taken aback, you quickly smiled and thanked her once again as she pointed you in the direction of the conference room. They'd all chosen to interview you. That definitely shifted some of the power in your favor. You quickly suppressed a satisfied smile and knocked on the door where the entire team was waiting for the final candidate.

"Come in." You heard a deep voice from behind the door, prompting you to turn the knob and say a final prayer hoping you wouldn't stumble over your words.

Seven pairs of eyes looked at you as you entered, watching your every move.

"Good morning," you smiled and looked around, making eye contact with everyone there. "Thank you inviting me to interview with your team. It is an honor."

"Please have a seat Ms. L/N," The dark haired man - whom you recognized as SSA Aaron Hotchner - pointed to a chair at one end of the large table. "Before we begin, I am SSA Hotchner, these are SAs Morgan, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid," he pointed to each one, prompting you to recall their faces from the extensive research you had done on this team. You smiled at them each in turn, which they returned, Agent Morgan adding in a little wave to his greeting.

"To my right is SSA David Rossi," Agent Rossi looked just like the pictures on his book jacket covers. "And finally this is our media liaison, Agent Jennifer Jareau and Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia."

"It's lovely to meet all of you," you said as you settled in, trying to keep your heart from beating out of its chest. Agent Hotchner was more intimidating in person. His deep gravelly voice in the introductions matched what you had learned of him - he was astute, intelligent, and unlikely to tolerate any antics. His large frame filled the chair he was seated in, his legs crossed one over the other. You swallowed and tried to maintain your composure and stay the course.

Agent Hotchner continued, "As you might know, the BAU has not conducted panel interviews in the past. However, we are trying to grow and adapt ourselves to suit the needs of the team's best interests and so we want to ensure that anyone who is selected meets the entire team prior to a decision." You nodded along. Panel interviews were becoming the norm a lot of places and while government is usually last to adapt, you were glad to see that the team culture seemed to be welcoming and open to flexibility. Agent Hotchner continued to explain the process, "So, because of all of that, the team has collectively come to the decision that the best way to assess a profiler is to have them actually do a profile. We profile UnSubs every day but doing it well is rooted in self awareness." He paused and looked to see if you understood. You had an idea of where this was headed, but he confirmed it next, "so, Ms. L/N, profile yourself for us please."

You saw a smirk on Agent Prentiss's face that arguably had been there the second you entered the room. You looked around as they all waited for you to speak. You had to think fast.

"I ran into Chief Strauss on my way to the interview today," you began. It wasn't what they'd expected and you knew you immediately had everyone's attention. "She let slip that the team had voted on who to interview. She also mentioned that I was the only person you'd all chosen."

You looked across the table and saw Dr. Reid staring at you with curiosity and ascertained that both of your predecessors had chosen the more straightforward manner of answering this question.

Both Agents Hotchner and Rossi looked at you with nothing betraying their thoughts, while the rest of the team either mirrored Dr. Reid's curiosity or looked just a little thrown off.

You recalled all of your research and meticulous notes on every single person in that room, and continued on. "Agent Garcia," you addressed the spunky looking Technical Analyst and smiled. "In my application and background check, you noted that growing up I moved every couple of years and I attended a new school each time. You saw someone who never had a home. For you this team is your family and your home. You all trust and respect one another and you felt like I'd most benefit from having this team - this family - in my life." you paused as Penelope gazed at you in some small amount of wonder. "You're probably right about that."

"H-How," she began, but stopped when Agent Rossi slightly lifted his hand, indicating you to continue.

You swallowed and took another breath, one down, six to go. "Dr. Reid," you turned and made eye contact with the youngest member of the team who was now studying you much more carefully, "My final year of college I worked under Professor Ludwig and published a paper in the Journal of Criminal Psychology. He forwarded my initial draft to you and asked your opinion on it and you responded with insight that helped shape the final experiment design greatly. Thank you." You saw a flicker of recognition on Dr. Reid's face as he realized that the anonymous paper he'd edited had been yours. "When you looked at my application, you saw my degrees, my certificates, and my Mensa membership and recognized a kindred spirit. You'd also like to no longer be the youngest on the team and it helps that I'm on the younger end of people who are usually considered to join the BAU. Actually, I'm pretty sure you also selected Elliot and Charlotte for the exact same reason." You allowed yourself to let out a small breath of a laugh, before bestowing your best smile on the Doctor. His slightly reddened cheeks bolstered you to continue on.

As you switched your gaze from Dr. Reid to focus on Agent Morgan, your eyes swept past Agent Rossi who seemed - if you weren't mistaken - amused. His poker face now had the hint of a smirk. You didn't dare look at Agent Hotchner for fear that one look at his stern face would cause you to stutter and lose steam.

"Agent Morgan, you could care less about academic accomplishments, despite being relatively accomplished yourself." The large man gave you a warm smile, telling you that you were right on the mark. "For you its all about who has your back out in the field. I'm at the top in the academy for all field evaluations. You also stalked my online profiles with Agent Garcia - who is your best friend - and saw that I'm a Bears fan. That's what sealed the deal for you." He let out a laugh at that - a real one - and exchanged a look with Agent Garcia that was loaded with _we are going to talk about THIS later._

Halfway through. Almost there. You had to remind yourself to keep going down the path you'd chosen. There was no way Charlotte Richards had turned the tables on the BAU team. Maybe she's smarter than you though. Yeah - definitely smarter than you if the pindrop silence in the aftermath of Agent Morgan's laugh was anything to go off of.

"Agent Jareau, " you turned your attention to the pretty media liaison and smiled kindly, which she returned. You would feel bad about this one, unsure of how she saw her place in the team, but you were determined to see this through to the end now. " Forgive me, but, you hesitated in giving your opinion. It is clear that you read through every application at least twice, combing them for the details." You took a breath, and met Agent Jareau's startled gaze. "You tried to find the humanity behind everyone's carefully curated headshot. What caught your eye was that I was turned down by the CIA prior to applying to the FBI." You felt bad about the assessment you were delivering and the uncomfortably tense silence in the room did nothing to put you at ease. To soften the blow, you continued onwards. "It didn't matter as much to everyone else but it mattered to you because you know how it feels to be made to feel as though you aren't good enough. You believe in second chances and you value fairness. You thought it was only fair to give me a shot."

You swallowed again and looked for a sign that Agent Jareau now hated your guts for exposing vulnerabilities in front of her coworkers. Sure she works with profilers, but who enjoys having their insecurities laid bare that way? Agent Jareau surprised you however. She smiled and her kind eyes told you that it was alright. You were doing what you had to. "Call me JJ" she told you, before gesturing at you to keep going.

As you turned to Agent Prentiss, you saw her smirk turn into what could only be categorized as a stare down. She was daring you to guess why she picked you. She was hoping you would be wrong. You knew Emily Prentiss by reputation, and so squaring your shoulders once more, you continued. "We've led similar lives, Agent Prentiss, - moving around at the whims of our parents career. You take a great amount of pride in having accomplished all that you have without your mother's influence. You don't see us as being the same though." You paused and gauged her reaction, but she had schooled her face to betray nothing. "You think I've leaned on my father's role and title. Ultimately, you're competitive. You want to feel like you're one of the few who made it out of the diplobrat lifestyle all on your own. You picked me not because you actually care to have me on the team but because you wanted to pick me apart in person and prove to yourself that you're still the only one who did it all by herself. " You had shot out the last bit, knowing it would hit the mark in knocking her down just a peg. You were about to make enemies before you were even hired - of that you were certain.

"Hotch, this is ridiculous," Agent Prentiss exclaimed. "She's not answering the question."

"Oh come on Prentiss," Agent Morgan piped in, before either Agents Rossi or Hotch could say something. "You're just pissed because she got you exactly." God, it was good to have him in your corner.

"Emily," Dr. Reid's soft voice was in stark contrast to Agent Morgan's boisterous one. His hand settled on her shoulder and she allowed him to calm her down.

Agent Hotchner was conspicuously silent. His right arm framed his face as he contemplated you. His face still betrayed nothing, but meeting his eyes made the pit of dread in your stomach loosen just a bit. Why - you couldn't possibly explain it.

After Agent Prentiss's interruption, you turned to look Agent Rossi dead in the eye. He would be perhaps the easiest. You had no qualms about him or his reaction. You smirked and said, "You thought I was attractive." He gave you a surprised look. Bet he didn't think you'd call him out on that. "You're not embarrassed that I called you out on that in front of the entire team. You value loyalty and you know my father. And you're about to prove Agent Prentiss's belief that I have things handed to me because of my father's influence. I hope you won't do me any more favors because of my last name." You'd known Rossi knew your father. They were acquaintances that ran in the same larger circles and there was some respect that is bought between old men in cigar cubs that you'd never be able to comprehend.

"You're right, you are attractive and I do feel an obligation to give an old friend's kid a leg up." He told you, fixing you with a look that put you slightly on edge in anticipation of what was to come. "But, I think after this performance so far, I don't exactly regret sticking to my loyalties." You didn't know how to react to that, but his kind smile at the end helped you in getting your wits about you for the grand finale.

You slowly turned to face Agent Hotchner who had shifted slightly and now was turned more closely towards you. There was something in his dark brown eyes that radiated understanding. Perhaps a callback to his prosecutor days where he recognized the technique of knowing more and talking more to throw your opponent off balance.

Your voice was clear going into the home stretch. "Chief Strauss gave you my resume herself and asked you to consider it. You don't like her interference in how you run your team." Agent Rossi smirked beside him as you said that, and yet Agent Hotchner's face didn't change at all. "While I've been explaining why everyone else chose me, you've been waiting till I got to you so you can prove me wrong. The problem is, you don't know yourself why you chose me."

"Are you sure?" It was the first words he'd spoken since he'd initially explained the process.

He was checking to see if you were bluffing. You looked him right in the face, eyes blazing, "Yes."

But you weren't done. Not yet. "So instead of speculating at what I think is your reason for choosing me, let me give you the best reason for why I should be the final pick." You paused for a beat. "I can do this job better than anyone else you've interviewed, and I can prove it. "

He finally uncrossed his legs and leaning in, asked painfully softly, "How?" His voice caused goosebumps to erupt down your arms. Thank goodness you wore long sleeves.

This was it. You were either getting this job or you were about to be arrested and you had no idea which outcome was more likely.

You fixed your gaze to Dr. Reid once again. "Dr. Reid, I've heard some impressive things about your memory. In the past three years the BAU either did a remote consult or went in person to solve three cases - Charles Abbott in Milwaukee, Gabriel Smith in Dallas, and Elliot Roberts in Portland. Would you mind sharing what those three cases have in common?" Dr. Reid shifted in his seat his long arms in front of his body, his hands cradling his head as he thought through your query.

From the corner of your eye you could feel Agent Prentiss's disdain radiating but she was curious. You knew she was intrigued and wanted to know where this was going. After a silence that seemed to stretch hours but was in reality maybe only a minute at most, Dr. Reid spoke, "In terms of crime, victimology, and MO they're all entirely different. The only thing those three cases have in common is that they were solved ultimately due to anonymous tips. The anonymous tipster ended up alluding to or adding a piece to the profile distributed to the public - something that was missed in the initial release. "

At this, you felt the entire room go stiff. They're all profilers and at least some of them have an idea of where this is headed now. They worked those cases and consults.

You smiled and nodded, "Yes, exactly. Now, those cases were spread out and have nothing in common with one another. But Agent Garcia, if you were to pull up the exact phone number associated with the anonymous tip for each case, you'll find that they were all solved by the same tipster, who called from a burner phone associated with the phone number 565-905-9589. "

There was a brief pause where Agent Garcia looked around the room to gauge if that was what she should do before she pulled out her tablet.

Agent Rossi spoke again, asking "What does that prove exactly besides the fact that you tied the same number across three different cases. Anyone with access to the FBI database could have conceivably done that."

"While that is correct, sir" Agent Garcia started file furiously typing away at her touchscreen keyboard, "trainees typically lack that kind of access."

"Well we all know it isn't that hard to get access to what you shouldn't." This came from Agent Prentiss whose smirk had morphed into a scowl after your rundown of her selection process, but was now simply neutrally intrigued. That looked like progress in some capacity at least.

Here goes nothing. "You're right. That is true." you addressed Agent Rossi's statement, before leaning down to reach your bag that had been lying on the floor since you sat down. You felt around until you found what you were looking for. "Which is why I'm sure you'll want to run forensics on the tip recording as well as inspect the phone which all of the calls came from." You stated, deftly setting down a disposable cell phone in front of Agent Hotchner.

He looked at the phone and then looked at you. You'd finally drawn a real reaction from him. He looked stunned. He wasn't alone. On the projector, Agent Garcia had pulled up the phone number tied to all three cases and you could see Dr. Reid verifying that it was indeed the number you'd recited earlier. JJ looked - dare you say - impressed. While Agents Morgan and Prentiss exchanged looks that you couldn't quite decipher the nuance behind.

"I understand that might take some time." you continued, as you gathered your bag from the floor and moved to stand up. Every single person in the room stared at you as if you'd grown three heads. "Once you've verified everything that I've just said, Agent Hotchner, I will be expecting your call. Have a nice day and thank you all for your time. "

 _And she stuck the landing._ You quickly turned and opened the door and walked out, suppressing your Cheshire cat grin all the way to the elevator.

___________________________

In your wake, the BAU team looked at one another unsure of how to proceed. Hotch recovered first, "Reid, what the tipster said, was it all publicly available information that we missed?"

"It was, which is why no one chose to investigate any of them more, I'd wager." Reid explained, still slightly in shock at the turn of events. "We just assumed we'd missed something in the profile, but there was no indication that it was someone who knew the UnSub or had any insider knowledge."

"Alright," Hotch sighed. That had not at all gone the way he had expected. Who just walks out of an interview like that after dropping a bomb. None of them had even thought to ask you to wait. They'd simply allowed you your dramatic exit as they stared at the phone. This was going to be a nightmare to deal with if it turned out you were anything other than what you'd claimed to be.

"Garcia," he turned and looked at the Technical Analyst who was brandishing her tablet the same way he held a gun.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do we have audio stored of any of the tips?"

"Allow me to check, one moment. Yes, we do. The Dallas case recorded and uploaded everything afterwards. Gotta love a data obsessed police department."

"Can you please play the recording?"

"Of course"

They all waited as Penelope brought the audio to the forefront and as she hit play, the tension in the room was at capacity. A crackle later, the audio began, your voice came through clear as can be. Agent Hotchner had a phone call to make.


	5. Day One

It was finally here. Your first day working for the BAU. As you got dressed that morning, your thoughts drifted back to a phone call with a certain Supervisory Special Agent.

You'd seen the Quantico Caller ID flash across the screen and suddenly you were listening to Agent Hotchner's deep voice. You didn't recall actually answering the phone. He first asked you how you'd known each time that the BAU was on a case. You'd had a friend with IT keep a track on their active cases but didn't want to throw your friend under the bus and risk them getting fired. You could feel Agent Hotchner's frustration when you refused to name your source. That wasn't how you were about to get your spot.

But finally, he had sighed and told you a date and time to arrive for your first day. You were glad no one had been around to hear the joyous shout that left your mouth when you hung up.

As you parked your brand new car in the employee parking garage and walked into the lobby for orientation, you made a resolve to let this truly be, a fresh start.

*---------------------*

Orientation had been a breeze and you were now standing outside Agent Hotchner's door right at noon. The bullpen had been empty around lunch time, and Agent Hotchner was the only person who could be seen working through lunch. You observed him through the blinds of his office windows, his head bent down over some files on his desk, the sunlight from the opposite illuminating his dark hair - revealing the shades of brown and specks of white that were starting to emerge. Steeling yourself, you knocked and heard him clear his through before he asked you to come in.

You walked in with a smile and Agent Hotchner was looking up at you, "Agent L/N," he greeted, your name preceded by the word Agent sent a small thrill through you. That was never going to get old.

"Agent Hotchner," you smiled at him as you took a seat in one of the chairs across from him.

"How was orientation?"

"Good. They went over all the rules and set me up with a badge and laptop," you replied indicating where you'd pinned your crisp new badge to your blazer lapel.

He graced you with a kind smile - the first smile you'd ever seen on his face. He should smile more - the thought invaded you before you could control it. You couldn't help but return it.

"You should be able to find a desk in the bullpen next to Agent Prentiss," he continued, the smile gone and his face back to business as usual. "She'll help you find anything you might need. We're not actively on a case right now but that can change at any moment. I suggest you have a go bag ready." You thanked your foresight that you'd thought to pack one in your car the night before. "Other than that, if you need anything, my door is always open. Welcome to the team." Quick. Efficient. To the point. You were being dismissed.

When you didn't get up to leave, he looked at you to see why you were detracting time from his unending pile of paperwork. You'd resolved earlier that you were going for a fresh start and knew you had to clear the air with this team before you could hope to work with them properly. You fidgeted slightly with your fingers before clearing your throat. "Agent Hotchner, I wanted to say, I know how I must have come across during the interview. But I want you to know that I'm here because this has been my dream for a while now. I want to learn and get better, and I can't imagine doing that properly without explain-"

He cuts you off, "Agent L/N, you don't have to explain. Despite your…irregular interview," he gives you a look that seems to be equal parts annoyance and admiration, "you should expect to the be treated the same as any other new agent. You will be expected to learn and you will be expected to fail. As long as you continue to learn and work with the team, we shouldn't have any problems." He finishes with what is now obvious dismissal.

You swallow the rest of your speech. You believe him. "Thank you Agent Hotchner," you say as you turn to leave his office.

"Call me Hotch. Everyone else does."

"Thank you," you pause and smile at him a final time, "Hotch."


	6. Laughter

You had been with the BAU a couple of months when Penelope arranged a drinks night, and insisted that everyone had to come. The team had just gotten back late from a case and you all had the next day off.

In the time you had been with the team, you had come to become friends with them all. You were glad that your initial encounter with everyone hadn't colored their treatment of you. That first day, Emily had glared at you as you got down to the bullpen, but had quickly turned it into a laugh, telling you that you had balls for pulling that stunt. Needless to say, you were taken aback at her quick forgiveness. Similarly they'd all welcomed and embraced you in their own ways and you'd come to grow a camaraderie with everyone.

"Hotch, come on man," you heard Derek shout from across the bullpen. "We're all gonna head out." You saw Hotch walking down from his office and start to shake his head, but Derek cut him off. "It's newbie's first time out with the gang. You gotta come or she's gonna think you don't like her."

"Yeah Hotch," you laughed, playing along. "You don't want me to think you hate me, do you?"

He looked down at you standing with the rest of the team, ready to head out, shaking his head. You had been on the team for a while now, and any doubt he might have initially had about how you'd fit - though he would never tell you - had disappeared after your first case. It had come your second day on the job and you had flown out with the team to Miami. You had been helpful, intuitive, and followed orders well. Watching you put the unsub in handcuffs had filled his chest with pride. Since then, you had been a team player and gotten along with everyone. He had had his doubts about yours and Prentiss's relationship, mostly on her end, but you'd all handled it maturely and moved onwards. He was pretty sure she was your best friend on the team now, the two of you often could be seen bouncing ideas off of one another and heading out to drinks after work. He reckoned it was nice for Prentiss to have someone who understood her life before the BAU. So, when you joined in on asking him to come along with the rest of the team to grab drinks, he found himself agreeing - he couldn't very well have his newest team member thinking he didn't like her. Who could possibly not like you. 

He found himself seated across from you in the large booth they'd managed to grab at the bar. You were seated between Morgan and Prentiss, your face full merriment from the two shots you'd already been pressured into drinking. Hotch himself had stuck to his first and only beer, knowing that plenty of you would be needing a ride back home.

He chose to remain quiet, observing the team talk to one another and have fun. Ever since the divorce he had felt closer to the team and he wasn't sure whether it was because he no longer had a home life outside of the time he spent with Jack or because of you. He recognized that the two events happened to coincide and so the divorce had left him with some additional bandwidth to let someone else in. He recalled sitting next to you on the jet on the way to one of your earlier cases. The team had been having a raucous back and forth regarding the potential triggers for the Unsub who had been stalking and murdering coeds in Southern Oregon. You were conspicuously quiet, letting everyone share their opinions and taking it all in. He'd come to recognize that you were patient and preferred to only share your opinion when it would have an impact. It got quiet after some time and everyone had turned to do their own thing.

You were still poring over the case files, when he had felt you stiffen imperceptibly next to him. "What is it?" His voice seemed to have caught you off guard, and when you had turned to look at him, your normal doe eyes wider than ever, you showed him that each of the coeds had held board positions for large campus organizations. Those types of groups tended to push young, attractive women to the forefront to gather recruits, and as you had poured over photos of some of their final days, you pointed to a man who appeared in the background of every single event's photographs, from just days before each murder. The team had its work cut out for them in actually identifying the Unsub, but it had helped Hotch better understand how you worked - you were patient, you didn't need the glory, and you were able to work the case from the ground up and get into the head of the Unsubs.

"Hotch!" JJ's voice dragged him away from his thoughts as she beckoned at him to join her, Morgan, and Garcia on the dancefloor. He shook his head, but before he could fully dig his heels in, you'd stood up, and grabbing his hand had managed to drag him to where the rest of the team was dancing. "Y/N," he began to say your name, still in shock that someone had actually managed to get him to even join everyone, but your glazed eyes and large grin gave him pause. You let go of his hand and started to bounce around with a carefreeness that he had never seen in you before, and despite himself he found himself swaying along.

You would have never been confident enough to drag your boss to the dance floor had you been even somewhat sober. But four shots in combined with your small frame and lack of food and you suddenly had all the confidence in the world to drag Aaron Hotchner - against his will - pretty much anywhere. His hand felt warm in yours and had you been sober enough to enjoy that feeling, you would've also realized how long it had been since you'd felt the warmth of another person's hand in yours. As you turned around you could tell Hotch was ready to leave you with the rest of the team, but for some reason he stayed and there you were on a Friday night, dancing with SSA Aaron Hotchner. Who knew he was even capable of something so completely carefree. Oh sure he barely bounced, he more or less just swayed to the music. But he had rhythm and you could work with that. You reached for both of his hands this time, pulling them back and forth and forcing him to meet your beat as you laughed and thanked the stars that you'd found this team that made you feel happy.

Your ability to get Hotch to the dance floor would not have gone unnoticed by the rest of the team. But if they noticed that straight laced boss was enjoying himself for the first time since his divorce - or ever as far as they could recall - none of them commented on it. Wouldn't want to spook him into stopping.


	7. Daddy

The team was headed to San Diego for a case. JJ had briefed everyone earlier in the morning on the case, where so far two bodies had been discovered and another woman was missing.

"So, we have to consider the sexual sadist angle," Derek said as everyone settled into the jet. His comment was warranted, directed at the signs of sexual assault, ligature marks, and the very revealing pleather outfits that each of the bodies thus far had been found in.

"Yes," Rossi responded, as he settled in next to Hotch. You were getting comfortable on the couch next to Spencer who was pouring over the photographs with what you could only deduce as a somewhat unprofessional curiosity. Something you would definitely be teasing him about later. "However, sexual sadism is not limited to the BDSM community," Rossi continued, "so we can't limit our search to just the subset of the BDSM community." Garcia had earlier brought up the thriving BDSM community in Southern California, resulting in some very unprofessional flirting between her and Derek. That had definitely taken some getting used to, but by now you felt just as comfortable - if not flirting with - but messing with Derek. He had that effect on people.

"Actually, engaging in BDSM can often be a sexually healthy release for many adults," Spencer chimed in. Before he could go down the road of bringing up more and more, Derek cut him off, "Yeah sure, pretty boy. But let's call it what it is - daddy issues."

This resulted in a couple of chuckles, but something compelled you to contradict him. "I don't know Derek, having a girl call you daddy - I mean, that's kind of special."

"Oh yeah, L/N?" he turned to you with a raised eyebrow and barely there smirk. This was your guys' thing. "Why don't you share with the group why it's so special to have a girl - nay a woman - call someone daddy."

You felt everyone's eyes on you all of a sudden. Alright then, go big or go home. That's always been your motto.

You turned and looked at Derek directly, surveying him, before standing up to go stand behind him. "Have you every had a girl call you daddy, Derek?" you asked, leaning down right next to his ear. From the corner of your eye you saw JJ shaking her head and hiding a grin while Emily looked at you in outright childlike glee. Derek tried to act as though your warm breath right near him didn't affect him, but you felt his shoulders tense just slightly. Not waiting for a response - you weren't sure if you were going to get one - you continued, letting your hand gently rest on the back of his chair. "You see Derek," you murmured, softly but loud enough for the small group on the jet to hear, "When a woman calls a man daddy, it means she trusts him. She trusts him intimately and completely. " You paused for just a second and allowed your fingers to brush down the side of Derek's arm causing him to shiver, and brought your lips closer to the side of his head. "She trusts him with her pleasure, her safety, and her heart. When she looks into his eyes and calls him daddy, he is her ultimate protector…her shelter from a world that hasn't been good to her. When a girl calls you daddy, you're the man that gives her hope for a better future." You finished your declaration with a smirk on your face and made sure to give Derek a sultry look, which he seemed a little out of it to return as he usually would. Slowly swaying back to your seat, you were quite pleased with yourself for having shut him up.

You heard JJ and Emily chuckling and Reid just looked embarrassed at having witnessed that. Rossi was the first to actually speak again, looking thoroughly amused. "I'm glad I've had that effect on so many young women," he chuckled, eliciting groans of disgust and pleas to never discuss his sex life again.

"So, Y/N," Emily looked at you, still stifling some giggles at Derek's reaction. "Have you ever met a man like that?"

"Oh Emily," you sighed dramatically, "if I had met a man like that I assure you I wouldn't be here with you losers."

As you all dissolved into another fit of laughter, Hotch looked at you curiously. He'd of course seen you joking around with Morgan before and while this wasn't your most professional of encounters that he had witnessed, he also knew it was all in fun as Morgan recovered and started to tease you again as well. No, what gave Hotch pause was the reaction he had had himself at your words. He'd felt a pang in his stomach as you'd whispered your delicately chosen words into Morgan's ear. He'd watched as your hands trail down Morgan's arm and he had found himself imagining what that might feel like. Aaron Hotchner was struggling with something he hadn't felt in quite some time. Longing.


	8. Little Jack

"Y/N!" you heard little Jack Hotchner running towards you, prompting you to quickly crouch down and catch him in your arms as he reached you.

"How are you buddy?" you asked, excited to see him again. You cupped his chipmunk cheeks in your hands to get a better look at him. You swore he grew an inch every single time you saw him.

"I'm good! Daddy and I went to the Lego store!" he exclaimed, pointing to the bag Hotch was carrying as he finally caught up to his exuberant son.

You stood up, lifting Jack with you in your arms, and smiled at Hotch. "Well that sounds amazing!" you continued as you and Hotch walked up the driveway to your house to spend the afternoon building Legos and eating ice cream.

You'd met Jack early on in your career at the BAU and he'd taken somewhat of a shine to you. He'd been a little shy that first time as his dad introduced the two of you, after Haley had dropped him off at the office for Hotch after a case. He'd hid behind his father and only reluctantly shook your hand. However, with his father's back turned to speak with a colleague, you'd taken it upon yourself to keep baby Hotch entertained and had proceeded to make silly faces, which rewarded you in peals of laughter from the toddler. Ever since he'd always loved seeing you and would beg his father for playdates when he was on Hotch's time.

For his part, Hotch was convinced that Jack had somewhat of a crush on you. He had babbled on about you after the first time and the next time he saw his father, he'd insisted on coming to the office so that they could have lunch together with Y/N.

The sight of tiny little Jack Hotchner padding up to your desk and asking you to have lunch with them was quite adorable. You had of course agreed at once, and as you allowed yourself to be led to the elevators by Jack's small hand clasped in yours, Hotch had leaned in and mumbled a soft "Thank you." You saw the relief and gratitude in his eyes, thrilled for his son, that you'd said yes. As if there was any other answer. "Jack's been talking about it all week, and I should've warned you but it slipped my mind."

"Hotch, stop." You had placed a hand on his arm and fixed him with a bemused smile. "There's absolutely no way I was about to say no to lunch with the Hotchner boys. You needn't have worried at all."

Warmth swelled in his chest as he watched his son hold on to your hand and talk to you about what kind of sandwich he was going to order from the sandwich place. You had already turned away from him, your attention focused completely on Jack.

Since then, playdates day become a somewhat regular occurrence for the three of you. You were thrilled to be held in such high esteem by Jack but couldn't help but feel guilty for intruding on Hotch's time with his son. When you'd told Hotch this, he had reassured you that it was perfectly fine and his time with Jack was really all about making sure that Jack was happy. You were part of that happiness. After the first couple of times, Hotch had decided to take slight advantage of the situation, choosing to drop Jack off at your place to run some boring adult errands such as groceries and dry cleaning. He had of course asked if you were comfortable and insisted he didn't want you to feel like a babysitter, but you'd just waved him away and told you to leave you be with your favorite Hotchner.

He recalled the first time he had brought Jack over for a playdate. He'd initially asked you over to his place, but you'd told him instead to bring Jack over to yours. When he arrived, he found himself second guessing the address you'd given him. He had driven into a street of stately homes with well manicured front yards - a far cry from the apartments and condos he was used to seeing younger agents renting in their first year with the FBI.

You had opened the door with a huge smile and leaned down to hug Jack. "Hi kiddo! I'm so glad you're here. Hi Hotch. Come on in, both of you."

You led Jack inside, leaving Hotch to close the door behind him. After grabbing their coats and asking them if they'd like something to drink, you'd handed Jack a juice box and handed Hotch a beer instead of the water he'd asked for. "Relax, you deserve it," you'd said, opening it and placing a beer you'd seen him order at the bar a couple of times.

As Jack filled you in on his day and the two of you caught up, Hotch found himself observing your home and realizing the comforts that coming from money must bring. He'd always known you were from a well off family, but it was never something you were flashy about at work. You had a normal - albeit brand new - car and your clothes were always high quality and put together. But Hotch realized that your home reflected a level of wealth that wasn't common amongst public servants. It exuded wealth - tasteful and refined - but no twenty six year old could possibly afford this in Georgetown on their own. He was starting to wonder why you'd invited him and Jack here, when you cleared your throat and drew his attention again.

"Jack, I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?! What is it?" His son's eyes shone with joy and Hotch realized he could care less why you'd asked him to your place if that was the reaction his son had to you.

"Follow me!" you said, helping Jack up and leading him through the hallway and to the door leading to the backyard. There, in the middle of your small grass covered backyard, was a mini jungle gym. It was any kid's dream.

"Dad! Look!" Jack didn't even wait for his father's reaction before taking off towards the structure, eliciting a twinkling laugh from you.

"The family that lived here before me left it behind," you explained, as the two of you watched Jack climb up one side of the structure, "and I haven't had a chance - or the will - to take it down, really. Figured someone might as well get some use out of it."

Hotch let out a rare chuckle and shook his head in disbelief - this was pretty unbelievable - as the two of you settled down into the chairs you had near the back door, making sure his son was safe.

Needless to say, playdates at your place had become somewhat of a routine for Hotch and Jack, and you were always kind enough to make yourself and your home available to them.


	9. Mon Cheri

Emily, JJ, and Penelope had spent the last night at your place. Will had taken Henry on a Father-Son trip back home to New Orleans, so JJ had elected to spend the night at your place as she never liked being home by herself anymore. When Emily and Penelope had gotten wind of it, it had turned into a sleepover. Strictly girls only, as you'd reminded Derek as he vied for a last minute invitation.

"Alright, you ladies have fun. Braiding each other's hair. Having pillow fights," he'd joked, following the lot of you into the elevator, holding the door for Hotch who had plans with Jack and was actually leaving early for once. Well early for him. Normal for anyone else.

"Is that truly what men think women do?" Emily's incredulous question was geared mostly at Derek, but you decided to lob it at Hotch as well. "Yeah Hotch," you asked nudging him playfully with your elbow, "Is that what you lot think we do during sleepovers."

He fixed you with a mock glare for dragging him into it, mumbling "Leave me out of it, L/N."

You giggled, thrilled to be having a girl's night. You hadn't had a sleepover since your boarding school days, so it was actually very exciting. You had stocked up on wine and the caterer should be finishing setting up right as you got home. You hadn't told the girls about that part yet, wanting to surprise and treat them.

It wasn't often you got to do something nice for them, and you were thankful that they'd all embraced you in their own ways. Emily had become your partner in crime, the two of you having exchanged stories of the various international schools you'd attended through the years and bonding over the angst of having parents who were married to their careers. JJ had taken you in like a lost - albeit incredibly well-coiffed - duckling one might find and you couldn't help but imprint on her just a smidgen. And finally Penelope, with her zany outfits and contagious enthusiasm had welcomed you into the pack after you assured her that Chocolate Thunder (also known as SA Derek Morgan) was not your type at all. He would always be hers.

When Emily and JJ had shared how you had rendered Derek incapable of thought with merely a few sultry words and a well placed graze of your hand, she had congratulated you in finally making him stumble and the two of you had conspired together on new ways to tease him.

As the elevator moved down and stopped on the floor below, more people made their way in, squeezing together and forcing Hotch to move close to you. You moved to position yourself slightly in front of him, so as to give him more breathing room to stand behind you in the corner and have a little more space to accommodate his larger frame. You and Hotch had gotten good at little things like that, you noted. Moving instinctively together. You chalked it up to the time you spent together and did your best to ignore the warmth radiating from him trying not to lean in too much as his hand came around to your lower back to support you from tripping over as even more people pushed inwards.  Wow - some people really couldn't just wait for the next elevator. They'd really rather all herd into one elevator like cattle.  You could tell Hotch was thinking something similar as you looked up and he - having felt your movement - met your gaze in mutual contempt of the rest of humanity.

*------------*

"So," Emily fixed you with her best * serious* look over the rim of her wineglass as you all settled in after dinner. "When's the next date with Art Guy?"

"There isn't one," you responded as you carried your own glass over from the kitchen. "He was snooty about his art and tried to explain his internal pain to me. Like, dude, you're not Van Gogh. Chill."

The giggles from the girls spurred you on. You'd actually been looking forward to sharing this with them. "But fear not, there are new prospects on the horizon. I ran into a buyer at his art show and we seemed to hit it off. He called yesterday and asked me out."

At this revelation Penelope squealed, asking for more details, but you fended her off for the time being. "What's the point until it's serious, Pen. But I promise as soon as I feel like I actually might like this one, he'll be all yours for the stalking," you assured her.

*------------*

All in all it had been a pleasant girl's night. The rest of the night had veered into topics around JJ and Will's forever postponed nuptials, Penelope and Kevin's recent argument, and Em's Sergio, whom you all agreed was indeed the perfect man.

As you settled into working on reports and consults - there wasn't a case on the horizon so the team was at homebase until JJ found something worthy of your attentions. Right around mid-afternoon as you wrapped up your second to last report and contemplated if another cup of coffee was really the best idea so late in the day, you were startled by someone calling your name. You hadn't expected to hear this familiar voice, here of all places, and for a moment you were sure you'd dreamt it, but as you turned to face the source, you saw Chief Strauss walking towards you from the elevators, accompanied by an older man. You immediately felt a stab of panic that you tried to quell, as you forced your body to rise to greet them. 

"Y/N, mon cheri, it is good to see you," the man reached you and promptly drew you into a hug, garnering everyone nearby's attention.

"Hello Papa."


	10. Father Dearest

"That's your dad?"

You were still reeling in shock as you watched Strauss and your father climb up the stairs towards the offices. Spencer, Emily, and Derek were all watching you. You think the question had come from Spencer but with the ringing in your ears, you couldn't be positive.

What was he doing here? Why was he with Strauss? This was supposed to be your place. Away from them. Away from him. So how on earth was he there, chatting with Strauss as if they were old friends. You must not have schooled your face too well, because Emily was asking you if you were okay. Her voice was lost in the din as you watched Strauss knock on Hotch's door and then draw both him and Rossi into the room with your father.

"Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me!" It was Emily again, trying to get your attention. You blinked and tried to focus on her - her voice - hoping it would ground you. She was holding you by your shoulders and she looked really worried. Both Derek and Spencer were right beside her looking equally bewildered by your reaction.

You had to get in there. You had to know why he was here. If he was here it was for nothing good, of that you were absolutely certain. You tried to give Emily a reassuring smile but it might've just been a grimace at best, because she didn't look reassured in the least. It's okay. You'd explain later. Right now you had to get to Hotch's office before he…before he did or said something that was...something. You weren't sure what. But you knew you had to stop him.

Before you knew it, your legs had carried you up the stairs, leaving your team to look at you worriedly. They'd had no choice but to let you go or risk causing a scene.

You knocked quickly but didn't wait for an answer as you normally would, but simply entered Hotch's office. You were being rude. You'd apologize later for your behavior. But not now. Show no weakness. This was your home, your office, your team.

"Agent L/N, may we help you?" Strauss asked, looking annoyed by your sudden interruption. It was against protocol and in her eyes it was insubordination - the worst of the deadly sins as far as she was concerned. Hotch and Rossi both looked at you curiously. It seemed you'd interrupted them in the middle of introductions though of course Rossi recognized your father. Maybe Hotch did too, who knew.

"I'm sorry, Chief Strauss. Please excuse me, I know I've overstepped. Why are you here?" The last part was directed at your father whose schooled poker face revealed nothing. No surprise at your intrusion. He looked at you with the same look he used to give you when you'd asked a particularly stupid question at the dinner table. The look designed to make you feel small and guilty.

"Agent L/N." It was Strauss again. Your father had chosen to ignore your question it seemed. "This is highly irregular, for you to interrupt a closed door meeting that you were not invited to."

"it's alright Erin. My daughter and I haven't seen one another in some time. Curiosity was a skill I ingrained in all my children. She took to it a little too well it seems," he laughed a bit disingenuously, gesturing to the surroundings. He was trying to defuse the situation but you couldn't be sure why yet.

"Actually Erin," he continued, "since you've assured me that this team is the right team for the job, maybe it would be alright if Y/N joined us?" He was asking, but he wasn't really. He had a way of doing that. "Please everyone, sit. Let's not all be so stiff. Darling, come sit by Papa." He motioned you over to him as he made himself comfortable on Hotch's couch. For some reason unknown to you, you followed and sat down on the cushion next to his, leaning just slightly away from him. You tried to revert your face back to neutral but there was no way Hotch and Rossi couldn't sense your complete unease.

Hotch's guard had already been up when Strauss had strolled into his office with the man, whom he now knew to be your father. Now, watching how you held yourself around him and seemed so electrifyingly confrontational, had every single one of his senses on red alert. He met Rossi's eye and knew that the older agent had caught on to the same - not that it was too hard to do, as you had barged in and demanded to know what the man was doing, daring to step foot in Quantico.

"As we were about to say," Strauss continued, looking thoroughly perturbed by your interruption. "Mr. L/N was contacted recently in his capacity as liaison between us and the Eastern Europeans, with some very disturbing news which he felt it imperative to share with us. The Director has already spoken with me about this, but Mr. L/N was contacted by a concerned citizen who has identified the presence of a serial killer who seems to be hunting American citizens up and down the East Coast for the past several decades."

"What about his role makes him the best contact regarding a tip about serial killers." You could've kissed Hotch for seeing through the bullshit. That's what it was. Complete and utter bullshit. Bureaucratic bullshit that you had been trained to see your entire life. Your father leaned closer and put his arm nearest you at the back of the couch, and then moved it down to be around your shoulders. You just wanted to fling yourself across the room and stand next to Hotch. Behind Hotch. Anywhere but seated near this man.

"I am a trusted figure in these communities. Often these people do not trust law enforcement to be on their side." He was trying to explain his job, his duty as he called it. The entire thing was revolting.

"So what do you have for us, then?" It was Rossi who asked this time, fixing your father with a firm look.

"Oh David, it has been such a long time since we last saw one another. Your directness. Always something I've admired." Ugh. He was trying to be charming. Rossi had to see through it.

Strauss chose to be the one to take Rossi's question. "Mr. L/N has compiled a lot of information on this case. I have already passed it along to both Agents Garcia and Jareau and the BAU will be prioritizing this over any other case." Her tone left little room for argument and you knew you were already on thin ice due to your earlier interruption.

Hotch was fuming on the inside. Strauss was dictating which cases his team did for some political agenda. And your father was at the middle of it for some bizarre reason. You seemed frightened. That was a sobering thought for him. He made sure his face revealed nothing as he simply nodded, knowing he would rant to Rossi about this as soon as Strauss was out of earshot.

The wheels in your head were spinning trying to make sense of it. Strauss wanted the team to take a case to hunt down a serial killer that your father had identified. Why? Who was this man? Why was your father trying to get him caught?

"Darling, why don't we let Agents Hotchner and David here get started and you can join me for dinner?" He was asking you to share a meal with him. Un-fucking-believable.

"Oh Papa, you know I would love to. But as you and Chief Strauss have emphasized, this case is of the utmost importance. I'm sure the whole team will be brought in and we will probably have to fly out tonight." You looked to Hotch for confirmation and he nodded.

"Yes, sir. Agent L/N is correct. We'll be bringing in the whole team and starting right away." Oh that perfect, smart, beautiful man. He was about to get free babysitting for Jack for life.

"Well, in that case, I suppose I'll leave you to it. Chief Strauss, thank you. Agents. Y/N, escort your Papa back to the elevators at the very least and perhaps the two of us can plan something for when you've wrapped up this little nuisance." You wanted to refuse but of course you couldn't. You faked a smile, and as he shook everyone's hands and exited the room, he pulled you in closer, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow as you walked out together, with Strauss at your heels.

"So, that was Y/N's dad," Hotch found himself feeling a mixture of revulsion and pity as he watched the man force you to walk him to the elevators. Your posture was stiff the entire way.

"Yes, however I've never seen him with Y/N before," Rossi confided as the two of them started to dig into the files that Strauss had left on Hotch's desk.

"Did she seem-"

"Scared?"

Hotch nodded grimly.

"Yes."

*------------*

As the elevator doors closed, hiding his face from view, you knew you had to face the team again. They were bound to have questions. You just weren't sure how honest you were prepared to be with them quite yet.

As you turned to walk back, you saw Rossi summoning everyone to the conference room.

He was waiting for you outside, after having ushered everyone else in.

"You okay kiddo?" Rossi actually looked really worried, and you reminded yourself that this was a man who might actually have some idea of who your father truly was.

"Not even in the slightest." You let out a breath that you had likely been holding since you'd heard his voice again.

"Alright, come on in then. We might as well all talk it out," he said, urging you in to join the rest of the team. They all look so worried. Emily made eye contact and you could physically feel her suppressing a what-the-fuck-was-that-y/n? You couldn't look at her too long - any of them. You turned to look at Hotch standing at the head of the table. He still looked calm. A little worried, but he was maintaining the calm overlay and that helped. Hotch was here. Hotch could handle anything.

You knew they were all waiting for you to go first. It seemed Garcia and JJ had filled everyone else in while you'd been in Hotch's office, as they all had a copy of the case file in front of them. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself, not quite knowing what was about to come out of your mouth.

"So…that was my father." You looked around, trying in vain to maybe just laugh it off, but they all looked so concerned still. This was mortifying.

Steeling yourself, you decided to just go for it. "Look, Hotch, whatever he says, whatever he does, don't trust him. This case, there's no way he just came across someone who handed him a file on a serial killer we knew nothing about. Isn't that suspicious to anyone? How did he possibly convince Strauss and the Director!" You had blurted out more than you'd actually meant to. You must look crazy.

They were all suspiciously quiet. It appeared they were deferring to Hotch and Rossi.

"Y/N," Hotch's voice was soft and cajoling, your name always sounded so nice in his mouth. "Why are you afraid of your father?"

Of course he'd pick up on that. You released another deep breath. You could hear the wall clock ticking as they all looked at you still. "My father is not a good man," you began, stifling the part of you screaming at you to trust no one. "Rossi, you know him. You know his reputation. He's not like your mom, Em. He's not an ambassador like her. He makes shady backroom deals and he's a liaison which is really just code for government-approved mob bosses. If he wants something from us, it's part of a larger plan and we won't know what it is until we're in too deep."

You hadn't realized you were shaking as badly as you were, but JJ had come around the table to sit next to you and her warm hand was truly the only thing keeping you mentally in the room instead of in a dark room inside your mind, screaming your head off.

"Okay, but Y/N, that doesn't answer my question. Why are you afraid of him?"

You had to just get it out. They would believe you, even if no one else would.

"I don't know if you guys know this, but I have two older brothers," you started to disclose.

"Yes, older one is Dominic - he works under your father. Your younger brother, the middle child, Julian, is deceased - mugging victim." Reid's recall from your background file sure came in handy.

"Yeah," you gave Spencer a shaky smile for filling in some of the details. You weren't sure how you were going to get this out entirely. JJ's hand was still clasped in yours and Hotch's brow was furrowed in worry, his lips a thin line. "I can't prove this," you said, shaking your head a bit, "but I'm confident that my father had Julian killed."

Penelope gasped, barely audibly.

"Y/N, sweetheart," JJ's voice broke out into the silence. "Why would you think that?"

"Julian was - he was not who my father expected a son of his to be. My father is a traditional man, and he cannot stand anyone contradicting him. Going against what he's ordered them to do. In my last year at Harvard, Julian was seeing someone. He had told me around the holidays and was going to introduce us at graduation. He died the month before. At graduation, a close friend - someone who has been around for me and my family since before I was born - confided in me that he suspected that Julian's death was not a suicide. You see, my father had a business deal he wanted to seal and he was pressuring Julian to date this girl while Julian was in his other relationship."

"Your brother was gay," Rossi asked but it wasn't a question. They all knew by the way you'd described your father.

"Yes. But I didn't know. Like I said, old school, traditional family with a reputation to hold. I only found out afterwards because my friend had Julian's journal from his final days. In it he was going to go public with his relationship and wrote about an argument he had had with my father when he refused to date that girl to seal the deal. My father knew then that Julian was gay."

"But, you really think he would kill his own son?" Derek was standing now, the incredulity evident on his face.

"I know he did. In his final days Julian was scared. My father has a lot of contacts that are seedy at best. Hiring a hit to avoid the embarrassment to the family of having a gay son - that is something that he would do. I grew up with the man, and there isn't a doubt in my mind that he's capable of it."

"Y/N," Emily had finally spoken. She looked at you and you knew that she wanted to believe you but her inner investigator needed more. "Is it possible that Julian committed suicide?"

"Yeah, it is," you admitted. "In which case my father drove him to it and then made it seem like a mugging to avoid the embarrassment of a gay son who committed suicide."

JJ's touch was reminding you too much of how good of a person she was and the crap family that you were associated with. You withdrew your hand from hers and stood to go lean against the wall as they all processed everything you'd revealed. Penelope brought over a glass of water for you and made sure you drank it, petting your hair to help calm you down. You hadn't realized you were still trembling.

After a few minutes, it appeared Rossi and Hotch had come to some sort of nonverbal decision, because Hotch had walked over to stand in front of you. You looked up to meet his eyes - his warm brown eyes which seemed lit with fire - rage and anger on your behalf. "Okay, then we'll work the case. But there's two cases. One is the case we've been handed. The other is figuring out why."

His declaration was directed just at you but it was obviously meant for the whole team. As you looked around the room, you could tell there were people in here who believed you with no proof at all. They'd simply accepted that he was evil and there was a larger plot afoot, just because you'd said so. All they'd needed was your word.


	11. Lost

Hotch watched you on the plane. You were quiet and subdued, which was to be expected. He had no idea you had been carrying this load this whole time. He thought back to when the team had decided to interview you. When Garcia had pulled your background up, she'd gone through your academic accomplishments through your graduation from Harvard at the top of your class.

"After college it seems like she had a lost year."

"A lost year?" Hotch had quirked his eyebrow at the moniker, as Garcia pulled up Page 6 articles where you were featured no less than fifteen times over the course of the year. Apparently you'd graduated Harvard and instead of pursuing grad school or accepting any of the million offers that came your way, you'd chosen instead to be New York's top party girl. There were numerous photos of you spilling out of clubs late at night, always on the arm of some spoiled rich kid.

And then suddenly, you'd turned it all around. The following year you'd applied to the CIA and been rejected. Having the context of your father's job, your rejection there made a lot more sense now. There was likely some conflict of interest and Hotch was convinced there was an open case with your father's name on it, somewhere deep within the Agency.

Once you'd been accepted by the FBI, it seemed you were back on the golden path you'd always walked on. Top scores across the board, intelligent, fast learner, beautiful - woah where did that come from. Of course you were beautiful. He was a person. He was allowed to notice that someone was attractive. You looked beautiful even under the dim lighting of the jet, your head leaning against the window.

Anyways, he told himself rerouting his thoughts, it made sense now. You found out your father had murdered your brother and you turned against him and decided to do everything you had always been ordered not to do. The fact that you'd had the courage to defy your father so publicly even after learning what he had done was extraordinary. But what had turned it all around for you? Deciding he had to know, he slowly rose and walked over to your seat. You looked up at him, confused, as he settled into the empty chair next to you.

"Y/N," his voice was barely a whisper, and in the dim lighting and quiet of the jet as the rest of the team slept, it felt even more secretive. "Thank you for sharing everything with us today. That couldn't have been easy."

You let out a quiet, breathy, barely there laugh. "I almost didn't. But then I thought about facing it by myself and I realized I couldn't," you confided. He could see unfallen tears making your eyes shine. "The only thing that helped me keep it together in your office - with him and Strauss - was knowing you were there."

He felt himself grow warm at those words. Y/N hadn't been on the team too long, and to know that she trusted him so completely was heartening to say the least. "You could face it on your own. But you shouldn't have to. Not when you're on this team." There, that was a professional response. She turned towards him and smiled. "I do have a question though, I remember from the background check when we looked at your application that you sort of - " Hotch wasn't sure how to say it.

"Had my lost year?" You were smiling so it couldn't be too bad.

"You and Garcia talked?"

You nodded.

"I get why it happened now, you were rejecting anything he'd ever pushed you towards in the wake of learning the truth about him. But what I don't understand was - how did you turn it around?"

You were quiet for a bit, unsure of how to tell him. You wanted to tell Hotch, but you were worried he might, think of you differently. But, throwing caution to the wind, in for a penny in for a pound, so to speak, you revealed to him, "After I found out, I felt really lost. Like you said, I was rejecting everything associated with him."

Hotch nodded in understanding.

"After graduation, I packed up everything, I broke up with my fiance - "

"You were engaged?" Hotch wasn't sure why that made him feel so anxious all of a sudden. Sure, you were young. He and Haley had gotten married young as well.

You chuckled a bit. "I guess Penelope's background checks don't catch everything. Yeah, I was. Our families approved, so of course I couldn't possibly be with him anymore. I ran away. I moved to New York, I partied and traveled - I did everything young girls are supposed to do when they're that age." Hotch noted the sad lilt to your voice as you continued on. "But it wasn't really me. I was visiting a friend down in Pennsylvania sometime during that year. He was in law school and had dragged me to a seminar on lives of civic prosecutors. "

That wrinkled some memory in Hotch as he looked down at your face. "It was you, Hotch," you confirmed. "You were talking about your career path and how you were at the BAU now. Someone asked you about why you left being a prosecutor to be in the BAU. I don't actually remember what you said, but you seemed so sure of your decision, so confident that it was the right move. I don't know, I guess that just stuck with me. Afterwards I looked you up, I looked up the team, and well, the rest is history I guess," you shrugged trying to play it off casually, but Hotch knew it took a lot for you to tell him that. He couldn't believe he was the reason you'd joined the BAU. Before you could turn away from him - clearly embarrassed - he did something he never did. His arm came around you and you were quick to embrace him back.

Hotch was hugging you. He never hugged anyone. God you must look especially pathetic right now. But you weren't about to waste a hug from Hotch. As his arms came around your back, you were quick to tighten your own around his waist, pushing your face into his chest. It felt so good to be held by someone. To be held by him. If you weren't mistaken, you were pretty sure his lips had just barely touched the top of your head, causing an infinite pool of warmth to explode within your chest.


	12. Dawson

The case had been a disaster from the moment you all landed. You were definitely on edge and could only see the ghost of your father around every corner. Once Spencer had figured out a geographic profile, Hotch had assigned everyone to their roles, but had kept you with him.

"You're grounding me because you think I'm going to do something stupid," you inquired as the others filtered out of the police station.

"You're central to understanding the psychology of this killer. He seems to be a hitman for hire and if he knows your father, then - "

"I know." You'd cut him off, your voice steady without its usual warmth. "It's okay, I get it. I'm worried I'll do something stupid too."

Your admission did absolutely nothing to lessen Hotch's worry.

*------------*

Emily and Derek had some success in identifying the Unsub, and within minutes Garcia had found the very scant file on Richard Dawson. He was middle aged, and appeared to be a career hitman who was quickly devolving from doing paid gigs to reliving the glory days.

"Hotch, we have to plan for the possibility that Mr. L/N set us on this path to tie up some loose ends." Derek's thought was one you'd been thinking already, and as soon as he said it out loud, you were sure it was the truth.

"Morgan's right," you turned to look at Hotch, who was commanding a room of officers to go and hopefully rescue the latest victim who might still be alive. Twenty year old Shelley Lipson, whose face matched that of an earlier victim from a decade ago had been taken but her body hadn't been found yet, which meant there was a chance he still had her. "We have to take Dawson alive. He could be blackmailing my father."

"Our priority is to save the victim, as always, and prevent any other casualties along the way." Hotch had his face set and his jaw clenched tight. You didn't argue with him, because he was right, but you were going to do your absolute best to make sure Dawson came in alive and ready to spill his guts about anything he knew about his father. You'd make sure of it.

That's how you found yourself inside a warehouse near the docks, following Hotch through the maze of shipping boxes until you came to see Dawson, holding a gun to Shelley's head, forcing the two of you to stop.

"Let her go, Dawson." Hotch was in full command of the situation, his attention focused on the Unsub.

Dawson looked manic and skittish, the gun in his hand trembling against Shelley Lipson's temple as she struggled against him, her eyes pleading at you. He let out a shout of a laugh as he ignored Hotch and instead focused his attention on you. "Look who it is, little Y/N L/N. Your dad always send little girls to clean up his mess?"

You forced yourself to not react, instead letting Hotch continue to talk him into releasing Shelley. Tears streaked down her face and she looked terrified. You knew that SWAT and the rest of the team were around the corner and just out of sight.

Dawson was still ignoring Hotch. "We go way back, your father and I." He was still talking to you as he clutched Shelley's waist roughly and dragged her with him. "Oh yeah, worked a couple odds jobs for him, back when you were just a little girl." His teeth glinted in the dim light causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end.

Before you could stop yourself, you heard your voice before you knew that you'd spoken. "What do you know about my father? What jobs did you work for him?"

Hotch was going to be pissed at you for engaging with the Unsub, but you had to know more. You had to know how to take your father down.

"Awww, does little Y/N want to get the dirt on daddy? Has daddy been a bad bad man? You want me to help you sweetheart, all you gotta do is ask?"

"Let her go, Dawson. She's not Erica. Killing her won't fix anything." Hotch was furious that you were distracting the Unsub and endangering the victim. Dawson was manic and he might say anything. His shoulders still tense, he watched as Dawson ignored him again.

"This your boss honey? Does he know your dad too?"

"Tell me what you know!" You didn't care. You didn't care about saving Shelley Lipson. You were single minded in what you needed.

"What're you going to give me if I help you? You gonna let me have Shelley? What about another woman? You gonna - " he was cut off by a loud gunshot and then he went down.

You quickly turned to face Hotch, in utter shock. What had he done? He'd killed the one man who could tell you what you needed to put your father away for his crimes. SWAT and the rest of the team rushed in and there was a flurry of activity as medical attention came to help the victim.

It was gone. Your one shot and it was gone. You'd played right into his hands.

*------------*

The flight back had been somber. Y/N was ignoring Hotch, though he had to admit he was surprised she hadn't screamed at him in anger. He wished she had, because at least then he'd know where her head was at. Instead she had walked away from him in the warehouse after he'd shot Dawson and had barely said a word to anyone since.

Emily had tried to talk to her, but her efforts had been rebuffed and Y/N had retreated to the single chair at the back of the jet and simply closed her eyes to fall asleep.

*------------*

You hadn't had the words to speak to Hotch. You were infuriated and knew that if you talked to him you were bound to say the wrong thing out of rage. You wanted Dawson alive. Hotch had shot Dawson. You knew why he'd done it and you had no leg to stand on to be upset with him, but you were.

They'd all looked at you sympathetically, and you couldn't stand the sight. Hotch kept trying to meet your eye, but you didn't want to talk to him either for fear that you'd cry in front of him and then ask him to help you get rid of your father in some very dubious, possibly illegal ways.

So instead you were sulking at the back of the jet, dreading going back to the office and giving your father the satisfaction of having succeeded in the team doing his dirty work for him.


	13. Better Man

You'd spent the night thinking through the end of the case and the showdown with Dawson. You'd made peace with Hotch shooting Dawson - he had been trying to manipulate you, and you had to admit that without him taking the reins on confronting Dawson, you weren't sure how it would've ended. And that thought scared you. The next morning, when you woke up, you laid in bed and debated calling out sick. Hotch would totally see through it, but considering the circumstances he might just let it slide.

But no, Strauss was meeting with your father today and she had asked you to be there as well. At least you were invited this time. As you got dressed, your entire body felt heavy and unwilling to cooperate. By the time you were ready, you were already running late.

When you entered the office, everyone else was already there. You mumbled good mornings to them and went to grab coffee before settling in. "How're you doing, Y/N?" You looked up to see Spencer peering at you from across your desks, but both Derek and Emily were also obviously.

Before you could reply, you heard Hotch's voice. "Y/N, can you please come up here?" Hotch was calling to you from his office. He had his grey suit on today that he rarely wore and a nice blue tie that you couldn't recall having seen before. _I wonder if he has a date_. The thought infiltrated your mind as you entered his office and saw that Rossi was there as well.

"Hey, good morning Hotch. Rossi." You nodded to them both before taking a seat in the other chair across from Hotch that Rossi wasn't already occupying. That was more words and much more polite of a greeting than either of them had been expecting from you.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Strauss is on her way up with your father, Y/N," he explained. "Before he gets here, I want you to know that I am sorry that we were unable to get more information from Dawson, but it was an inevitable outcome." His voice was calm and steady. He wanted to make sure you understood and weren't about to create a scene.

"Hotch, I know. I - I know." You let out a large sigh and slumped back into the chair, feeling defeated. "I don't blame you. You don't have to apologize. I just - wish we could've pinned him with something."

"I know." He looked truly upset about the outcome as well.

Right then there was a knock on the door announcing Strauss's arrival. You turned and saw that she didn't wait for Hotch to invite her in, but instead strolled in like she owned the place. Your father was right behind her. Based on how smug he looked, you reckoned she'd already broken the news to him.

Both Hotch and Rossi stood, forcing you to stand as well.

"Agent Hotchner, David, good to see you again. Erin here has just filled me in. Job well done it seems." He had walked in and sat on the couch and Strauss came and sat by him. "Y/N, darling, Papa missed you."

You forced your mouth to turn upwards into what you hoped was a smile but from the expression on Rossi's face you couldn't be sure.

You all sat down, your back completely straight now, and your arms crossed across your chest. Hotch and Rossi started to debrief them on the case and filled them in on the takedown with Dawson - conveniently leaving out the part where they were investigating your father as well. Your father was sat on Hotch's couch with the ease and confidence of a man who could not be touched. It was enough to infuriate anyone. _The pompous, manipulative, bastard._

As your father listened to Hotch's report, you could feel his eyes examining you. You kept looking at Hotch to see if he was almost finished yet and to avoid making extended eye contact with your father.

Finally Hotch finished the retelling. You couldn't wait for this to be over, so much so that you were already poised to leap out as soon as you father and Strauss left.

"Well then, I believe congratulations are in order. You have once again rid the world of some evil."

"Thank you, sir."

You thought that would be it and he would leave but he was still sitting. Not looking as though he was about to leave anytime soon. Too relaxed. _What now?_

"I understand the world just has too many of them." He was speaking deliberately. He was about to make some point for sure. "These… _lecherous older men_ …preying on young girls."

There it was. The way his eyes roamed from you to Hotch as he said _lecherous older men_ made you see red. How dare he imply that Hotch would ever - before you could contain yourself, you'd already spoken. "Don't."

"I'm sorry, what did you say mon cheri?" You father cocked his head to look at you with a pleased glint in his eyes. As though he hadn't just blatantly accused Hotch of looking at you in that disgusting manner.

"I said, don't." You had feared your voice might tremble but you were calm and clear. ou pushed up from your chair and moved towards him as you spoke. "Don't suggest that _he_ looks at me that way. You have no right to say that. Not here. Not in _his_ office. Not _ever_!"

Strauss looked bewildered at your behavior, but he'd been expecting it. He had been poking to see where he could push and he'd found it.

And then he ignored you.

"Erin, it appears this case has obviously had some toll on my daughter. Perhaps the two of us can discuss the next items in your office."

Before you could say anything else, he'd opened the door and was leading Strauss out.

"Y/N." Hotch was at your side, his hand on your arm turning you to face him.

"Hotch, he had no right to say that! And don't you dare tell me otherwise."

Hotch looked to Rossi, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. The two of them watched you like you were a ticking bomb. Hotch couldn't believe you'd gone off like that in front of Strauss because of something your dad had insinuated about _him_. Who cared what that man thought? Hell, the way he'd found himself watching you on the jet on occasion, it wasn't even too far off the mark, not that he'd tell you that.

You were fuming. He was never going to leave you alone. Not unless you went nuclear. In a moment your mind was made up and you purposefully strode to the door, yanking it open. Hotch and Rossi were hot on your heels as you briskly left his office. The movement upstairs had caught the team's attention as well in the bullpen and they watched the three of you walk one after the other across the top floor.

You quickly walked towards Strauss's office as Hotch tried to stop you. "Y/N, you don't want to do this."

He was wrong. You'd never wanted to do anything more. You didn't even bother knocking this time, just opening the door to Strauss's office and walking in to see your father seated across from her. "Chief Strauss, may I please have a moment alone with my father."

"Agent L/N," Strauss was furious. "I have tolerated your impertinence before, however this -."

"Erin," Rossi had reached the door right behind Hotch who had respectfully stayed outside. "Why don't the two of us go to my office for a moment and let L/N work out a quick family matter?"

She almost dismissed Rossi, but was convinced when your father nodded at her. The power this man held was absolutely absurd.

Breathing hard, you shut the door behind her as Rossi led Strauss away. Hotch was standing guard outside, showing no sign of leaving.

"Y/N," your father was still seated, looking as calm as ever. "What are you doing?"

"I know. I know about Julian," you spat out. "I know what you did."

His face immediately morphed into something unreadable as he processed what you said. "What exactly do you think I did?" His voice was a cold slither that warped your intestines.

"I know you murdered him," you trembled out, tears free flowing down your face now. "I read his journal. You threatened him. You terrorized him. Why?! Because he didn't follow your carefully laid out plan? Because he dared to go against you? How could you do that?! He's your son!"

He looked thunderstruck but did not refute your accusation. You were breathing really hard now and there was no way Hotch hadn't heard that. Hell, with Spencer's lipreading ability and the blinds of Strauss's office being wide open, you wouldn't be surprised if they all knew exactly what you'd said.

You turned away to wipe your face and saw Hotch's form standing outside still. He had positioned himself sideways and was looking straight ahead so as to offer you the illusion of privacy.

"What do you want?" His awful voice was too close now as he had risen to stand right behind you.

"I want you to leave. I want you to leave me and the BAU out of whatever you're planning," you said, attempting to speak as forcefully as you could, trying to mimic the way Hotch spoke to the worst Unsubs to establish dominance.

It was silent for a moment as you waited for him to respond. "You would turn against your father, your family, for this?!" He roared in your face, finally breaking. He was too close, forcing you to back up a couple steps. You stayed quiet and maintained eye contact. "Or, would you turn against me, for him - SSA Aaron Hotchner. Don't think I didn't notice the way you looked at him." His words burned.

"Do not ever think to compare yourself to Agent Hotchner again," you gritted out, your hands clenched by your side. "He is a better man and a better father than you could ever be. There is NO comparison."

His eyes blazed red angry and his hand moved up and hit you across the face with the full brunt of the rings he wore. Before you could react or even truly feel the pain, Hotch had barged in and put himself between the two of you. "You have just assaulted one of my agents. You will leave. Now." His voice was scary and direct, his jaw clenched tight.

They seemed to be in a battle of wills as your father tried to stare Hotch down, but Hotch maintained his position.

"She'll turn on you too one day. Remember that. Her only loyalty is to herself. I should know. I raised her," he spat out, before striding out of the office.

You turned to watch him go and saw that both Emily and Derek had made it half way up the stairs at some point. As your father made his way down, they refused to move, forcing him to squeeze past them.

Hotch was leading you to sit down in the chair your father had vacated, inspecting your face. You were starting to feel the pain of being hit forcefully by metal rings and struggled to stay still as his hands cupped your face and looked it over. "You're going to have some bruising and I'll get a bandage for the cut there, but you should make a full recovery."

"Oh god!" you breathed out. "You're trying to make a joke. The world really is ending." You tried to laugh but your face still hurt and you ended up making a pained face instead.

"You didn't have to say all that." His voice was soft and patient and you felt so safe there with him. He had of course heard everything you'd said through the door, and he couldn't pretend that he hadn't.

"Of course I did." You titled your head up to look at him, and the look in his eyes made you feel so incredibly safe. "And I meant every single word." Hotch just looked at you wordlessly, contemplating what you'd said.

As the rest of the team filtered in and started flustering over you, he kept looking at you. He couldn't believe you'd gone head to head with your father like that - over him. He couldn't believe someone like you could possibly have been raised by that man. You who always listened to Reid and made him feel like someone was truly listening to everything. You who had helped JJ realize how much she truly loved Will and how important it was to him that they were married, to the point that it should be just as important to her. You who stocked your home with all of Jack's favorite foods and always had his favorite beer in the fridge, at your home.

As he watched Emily carefully clean and then place a bandage on the cut at your temple, he felt more than longing for you. Much more. His chest felt heavy and he had to force his breathing to stay regulated at the force of his realization.


	14. Superheroes

It had been business as usual with your father's dark shadow gone. You knew that it would rear its ugly head again at some point, but for now you wanted to pretend that life was fair, the good guys won, and the hardest decision to make was figuring out what to wear for a date.

You guys had wrapped up a case earlier than expected and you were looking forward to a weekend off. Friday evening at the office, you had a date planned with the guy you'd met at the art gallery a few months back. The two of you had been on a few dates now which was all you'd been able to manage with your schedules.

As you sashayed back into the bullpen with your hair and makeup done, wearing a new dress you'd picked out with the girls during your last outing, you were greeted by Derek whistling. "Someone's got a hot date," he teased, walking over to your desk as you were packing up. "What've you got planned?"

Everyone was wrapping up for the day - Emily was accompanying Rossi to a jazz club, Derek and Penelope had plans to go catch a movie, and JJ & Will had convinced Hotch to babysit a sleepover while they went on an adult date.

"I'm meeting that guy I've been seeing," you explained, checking your makeup a final time in your hand mirror as you packed up your gear. "He got reservations at that new restaurant downtown."

"Bravo?" Rossi had apparently been listening in as he waited for Emily to wrap up. "That's pretty fancy, isn't it? Expensive?" He raised his eyebrows, impressed.

"How fancy we talking here?" Derek asked, looking between you and Rossi.

Before you could respond, you heard the voice of cherubic Jack Hotchner from behind you, "Y/N!"

You saw him running towards you, Hotch walking right behind him. Jessica must have dropped Jack off for the sleepover.

You quickly kneeled down and caught him, lifting him up in your arms as you rose. "Hi baby, how are you? I missed you." You quickly looked him over and placed a kiss on his nose, causing him to laugh.

"I'm good. You look pretty."

"Why thank you, Mr. Hotchner," you laughed.

"She's got a date," Derek added as he himself knelt to grab Jack from you and say hello.

"Who are you going on a date with, Y/N?" Jack's innocent little voice asked. If you hadn't known better you would've sworn Penelope had put him up to it. You hadn't said much about your date yet to the team.

"Yeah Y/N," Penelope chimed in, grinning ecstatically at the opportunity presented. "Who's the guy?"

You glared at her but didn't want to lie to Jack. Of course by now you had everyone's attention.

Sighing, you answered, "His name is Cedric Kensington."

"CEO of Kensington Technologies?" Reid asked, his eyebrows quirked up.

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, Y/N. He's a millionaire!" Penelope had already looked him up on her tablet and was now scrolling through articles and images of your date.

"He is well off, yes," you confirmed, feeling a tad uncomfortable with the attention.

"That's what rich people say when they're loaded! Look at this car!" Penelope was still showing Derek - as well as Jack and the rest - photos of Cedric.

"Well yeah, the car's why I'm dating him," you joked, hoping to alleviate your own discomfort. You didn't love everyone knowing about this stuff. Though, you reasoned, Emily, JJ, and Penelope of course knew you were dating someone. Derek and Rossi would have guessed from the outfit. So who did you really care about knowing. You turned and watched Hotch to gauge his reaction, but he appeared unaffected.

Derek passed Jack back to you as the rest of them continued to stalk your date, with Rossi trying to draw Hotch into the circle as well.

"Y/N." You turned to look at Jack. He looked a bit subdued now.

"Yeah, buddy, what's up?"

"Dad doesn't have a cool car. How is he going to get dates?" His small voice broke your heart - he sounded so genuinely worried.

"Oh baby, that's not how it works," you tried to salvage your mistake. You should have been more mindful around Jack. "You see," you explained, speaking softly so that only Jack would hear you, "some guys need things like cool cars to get girls. But other guys - guys like your dad - guys who are Superheroes and catch bad guys - they need to only be themselves. Your dad doesn't need a cool car to get any girl. I promise."

"You're sure."

"I'm sure," you promised, relieved that he was cheering up.

Unbeknownst to you, Hotch had had a ear towards the two of you the entire time. He had to school his face carefully when he heard you talk to Jack, your words bringing warmth to his face, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. He saw you holding Jack in your arms and looking absolutely radiant. He should've told you how beautiful you looked too. You deserved to know.

He had seen Garcia pull up your date's photos and gush about how handsome and well off he was. Hotch thought Cedric Kensington he looked like every other spoiled rich kid, and he found himself wondering what you were doing with another one of those. But that wasn't any of his business, he reasoned. You could date anyone you wanted. You should date someone closer to your age. He resolved to be happy for you. Even if it hurt him.


	15. Foyet

The Foyet case was at the forefront of your mind every day. Haley and Jack had been moved to witness protection and there were no leads. You knew Hotch was suffering even though he tried to act unbothered.

The team had wrapped up another case successfully, and you were all on the jet on your way back home. You found yourself seated across from Hotch. Derek and Spencer were playing chess at the table, which Derek would lose in three more moves, from what you could tell.

Emily and JJ had both claimed a couch and were passed out, and Rossi was sitting next to you at the window. You weren't sure if he was asleep or not. Hotch had sad down with paperwork in his lap, but you could tell he hadn't made much progress. The Foyet situation was weighing heavily on him. You felt horrible knowing he had to go home alone and walk past Jack's room every night. You hadn't been in your backyard since - it was too difficult.

Sighing, you shifted in your seat, catching Hotch's attention. He quirked a brow at you, asking if you were okay.

You looked at him for a second, before speaking. "I miss Jack."

He looked pained but grateful at your admission. He tried to not talk about it at work unless it was directly related to the case. It was nice knowing that someone else missed Jack too.

"Me too."

The two of you looked at one another for a few more seconds before he returned to the paperwork. You shifted again and saw that Rossi was indeed awake, and he was looking at you and Hotch oddly. When he saw you notice him, he simply shook his head and turned back to the window.

*------------*

Foyet had Haley and Jack. He'd gotten past the Marshalls and the whole team was racing from opposite ends of the city towards Hotch's old house.

The team had been diverted by Foyet and spread thin across the city. You were with Morgan and Reid while Rossi, JJ, and Prentiss were scrambling to reach the house from Bethesda. Hotch was alone, and he was closest. None of you asking him to wait for you was having an impact. He was driving furiously to get to Haley, knowing it was a trap.

Suddenly, your earpieces all turned on, and you realized that Penelope had connected everyone to Hotch's phone so you could know what he was saying. You heard Foyet taunting Hotch, telling Haley that it's Hotch's fault that he's doing this to her. Foyet puts Jack on the line and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. You can hear Hotch's fear in his voice as he speaks to his son.

"Morgan, please go faster," you find yourself saying, even though he's driving as fast as possible. The panic is palpable in the car, you and Reid holding on as Morgan barrels through traffic to make it in time.

You listen to Hotch tell Jack to work the case and hope to everything in the universe that Jack remembers what his dad had taught him. And then it's Haley. She's talking to Hotch. Foyet has her and she knows this is it. Deep in your gut you know too that these are her final words - for Hotch and for their son.

"Promise me that you will tell him how we met, and how you used to make me laugh. He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. I want him to believe in love, because it... it is the most important thing... but you need to show him. Promise me!"

You don't hear what Hotch says back to her. Next thing you hear is a gunshot.

Rossi's car had beat yours to the house and you run inside behind Morgan. Haley's lying there in the living room and there's blood everywhere. You run upstairs to see Rossi pulling Hotch off of Foyet's body but you don't see Jack. Before you can say anything, Hotch is moving towards the office, with you at his heels. He runs into the office and opens the closet. Hearing Jack's voice causes your knees to buckle and you would've gone down had Morgan not caught you.

Hotch wordlessly hands Jack to you and you tuck the little boy's face into the crook of your neck to take him away from all of this. The ground feels shaky as you walk down the stairs, a hand on Jack's head to keep him from turning and seeing the living room where his mother lay.

As you make it outside, you run into JJ and Emily and you feel it coming. You can't talk but the panic in your eyes must've compelled JJ to quickly grab Jack from you. You quickly emptied the contents of your stomach on the front lawn of the house that Haley was murdered in. You can feel Emily holding your hair out of the way, her cool hands running over your face.

Haley's funeral was held a week later on a sunny day.


	16. Comfort

The team had rallied around Hotch and Jack. Rossi had been over a lot and Jack had started calling him Uncle Dave from what you'd heard. Morgan and Reid had helped Hotch install his new high tech security system and the three of them had spent a whole day at the new place - is what you were told at least. Emily, JJ, and Penelope had gone over laden with food, chocolates, and toys for Jack. They'd invited you along but you'd bailed last minute.

You hadn't talked to Hotch since Haley died. Not really. Sure you'd been there for all of the team stuff when everyone was there. But you hadn't spoken to him directly about it - about Haley. Since he hadn't returned to work yet, you were able to get away with it. You knew it was selfish to not say _something_ \- anything really - but you found yourself at a loss. Nothing you said would be different from what anyone else said. It wouldn't matter. So, you spent most of your time with Jack, keeping him entertained and making sure he was doing alright.

It had been about a month that Hotch was away from work, in which dinners at his place with everyone - Will and Henry included - became more of a regular thing. The team had just got back from a case that had shockingly ended alright, having saved the victim and apprehending the Unsub successfully. You'd all descended on Hotch's apartment, even though all you'd wanted to do was go home and curl into your bed and forget.

You sat on the couch beside Morgan, hoping his larger than life presence would be enough to cloak you. The team had noticed of course how quiet you'd been. Emily and JJ had told the rest of them - not Hotch - how you'd reacted when Haley died. That, paired with your inability to look Hotch in the eye, had them all concerned.

Rossi had tried to talk to you about it - how grief was a part of life and it was natural to deal with it in your own time. Derek had told you that you couldn't just cut Hotch off - that it wasn't fair for him to lose Haley and lose you too. They were all very valid points, but you didn't know how to tell them that you saw her dead every night when you slept. You couldn't talk to Hotch with everyone else around and ask him how he was. You were terrified you would burst into tears and then he would be in the awkward position of comforting you when it was really he who needed the comfort.

"Y/N," you saw Jack approaching you from the playroom.

"Yeah buddy, what's up?" You stood to go meet him halfway. He'd been playing alone for the past 20 minutes or so since JJ and Will had left with Henry.

"I'm tired," he said, his little baby face turned towards you, looking completely worn out.

You turned and indicated to Hotch that you were going to take him to bed and he nodded in agreement. He'd been letting you hang out and do things with Jack as much as you could while you were around. At first you'd thought he would be more protective and want to do everything for his son, but it seemed like whenever Jack asked for you, Hotch made sure to let you handle it by yourself.

You led Jack by the hand to his room so the two of you could pick out his pajamas, leaving the others to continue talking in the living room. You helped him take a quick bath and then climb into bed to read a story that the two of you had started last time you'd been over. You'd thought Hotch would continue it, but apparently he'd started a different one, leaving you and Jack to finish yours together.

As you sat next to Jack in his twin sized bed, you noticed that he seemed less excited for a story than usual.

"You okay, Jack?" you turned to see him looking as lost in thought as a child possibly could.

"I miss Mama." His small voice saying those words caused your heart to ache for the sweet little boy next to you.

"Oh baby, I know." You moved so that Jack was sat in your lap and you could look at him properly. "It's okay to miss her. We'll always miss the people we love when they aren't there anymore."

"Daddy gets sad when I ask about her."

Your eyes were welling up even as you were determined not to cry in front of Jack. "Your daddy loved your mama, so so much. He misses her a lot too."

You sighed, trying to think of what to say next, terrified you would say the wrong thing.

"But, Jack, if you want to ask about your Mama, you should always do that. Talking about the people we love is how we can still hold on to them when they're gone."

"I don't want to make Daddy sad." You took Jack's little hand in yours, touching his fingers to your lips. This little child had gone through so much and yet his heart was still so kind. He was definitely Hotch's son.

"He'll be a little sad, yeah. But he'll also be happy to talk to you about her."

"You're sure?"

"I promise."

"Okay, Y/N," Jack said, climbing off of your lap, reassured. "We can read the story now."

You tried to smile as you opened the book where the two of you had last left off, your voice catching just slightly as you began to read.

*------------*

By the time Jack had fallen asleep, it appeared everyone else had helped Hotch clean up and said their goodbyes, as the living room was dark when you exited. Not wanting to just leave without saying goodbye, you went to go find Hotch. The plan was to find him, say good night, and be on your way. As you walked down the hallway, you saw a dim light on from his bedroom, so you quickly approached and knocked.

"Come in."

"Hey," you whispered, slowly opening the door slightly. You walked just into the doorway and saw Hotch sitting on the side of his bed, fully dressed. He seemed completely worn out, and before you knew it you found yourself walking up to him.

He looked up in surprise. Your avoidance hadn't gone unnoticed, so he wasn't expecting you to come in and check on him.

"Jack's asleep," you told him. It had been so long since you'd allowed yourself to be alone with him, that you felt awkward.

He noticed your hands were fidgeting and tugging on the hem of your sweater. Heaving a deep sigh, he moved as if to stand up, but you found yourself preventing him, with your hands on his shoulders. He looked up at you curiously as you'd moved to stand right in front him, standing between his legs.

You weren't sure what compelled you to move closer to him, but as you found yourself looking down into his warm brown eyes, your resolve strengthened. "I'm sorry."

Before you knew it his hands wound around your waist pulling you unbelievably closer as you brought yours to hold his head against your chest. You could feel him trembling underneath your fingertips as you held him.

He was enveloped by you. Your presence that had been kept away from him for so long was suddenly within his grasp and he felt himself break the dam he'd built within.

You weren't sure how long you stood there, clutching one another in the dark.


	17. Big Brother

Things had gone back to normal - or as normal as they ever got when you caught serial killers for a living. Cases at work had picked up with Hotch back in the driver's seat, and you were all starting to heal.

The team had successfully wrapped up a case in Kansas City involving missing children, so needless to say spirits were high. You drove back to the airport with Hotch, Spencer, and Garcia, with the others in another car behind you. Garcia had tagged along since the Unsub had been known to hack into home alarm systems and it would be good to have her on the ground with the rest of the team.

"What does everyone have going on for the weekend?" Penelope had obviously bored of listening to Spencer's lecture on quantum physics he'd been telling her about for the past 20 minutes. You and Hotch had conveniently tuned out, choosing instead to argue over your taste in music. You had been doing your best to introduce him to new artists instead of listening to The Beatles for the millionth time, and currently you were making a good case for Hozier.

"Jack's away at the lake with his cousins, so I have a free weekend for once," Hotch revealed. You were happy for him to be getting a break - he'd been working himself ragged trying to be Super Agent and Super Dad - a break was definitely a good call.

Before you could answer Penelope, your phone rang, distracting you and leaving Spencer to tell Penelope about his upcoming weekend of hustling with Emily in Atlantic City. The two of them made a dynamite duo in scheming drunk guys out of their money and had turned it into an annual tradition.

You quickly pulled your phone out of your pocket and saw - for possibly the fiftieth time that week - the name Dominic flash on your caller ID. Your brother had been pestering you for a few weeks now, trying to get in touch. No doubt he was doing your father's bidding. Being rid of him entirely had been too much to ask for.

You quickly dismissed the call, catching Hotch's glance in your direction. You shook your head at him, mouthing, "Later." He nodded in understanding, before tuning in to the conversation in the back once again.

"What about you, sugar?" Penelope asked, looking at you eagerly, awaiting your answer.

You thought for a second - what did you have planned for the weekend? With Jack away and Emily and Spencer off to Sin City, you didn't really have much to do. _I should really get friends besides people I work with and their children_. "Nothing planned," you said, turning in your seat to look at Penelope.

"Oh come on, Y/N! You're young! Vibrant! You should have plans. Men courting you." Penelope had been the most disappointed when you'd ended things with Cedric during the peak of the Foyet case. You had had more important things to worry about and between both of your busy schedules, actually seeing one another was becoming impossible. That was when you'd started to understand how hard it must have been for Hotch with Haley. He loved the job and he loved her, but she'd asked for him to leave it and in the end he hadn't been able to. While you sympathized with Haley, you got why Hotch had chosen the job. It would have killed him not to.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes good naturedly. "When would I meet men, Pen? The only men I meet are serial killers."

"Actually, statistically speaking, you run into at least fourteen eligible mates every time you step outside," Spencer rattled off in his all knowing voice. "Plus, you're a female of above average attractiveness, so it is actually closer to twenty for you."

"And yet, somehow, I'm single," you retorted. "I must be chasing them away with my attitude."

You heard Hotch chuckle from next to you. _He should laugh more. It makes him look younger._

*------------*

Penelope had talked everyone into going out once again, using the excuse that Hotch was free and didn't have Jack. You could tell he wasn't thrilled about being used as the excuse - he was so bad about enjoying bar type settings. However, he'd agreed under the agreement that everyone turned in their report to him before they left for their weekend activities. Spencer, Penelope, JJ, and Rossi had gone ahead, having quickly rushed through their reports. Hotch wouldn't leave until everyone had turned theirs in, and you didn't want him to be waiting alone, so you were sitting in his office keeping him company while waiting for Emily and Derek to wrap up as well.

When you'd brought your report up and then turned and sat on his couch instead of leaving, Hotch had quirked an eyebrow at you in question. "Can I help you?"

"Nope!" you said flouncing down on his couch. "I'm just waiting up here to make sure you can't just bail."

He rolled his eyes at you, but then fixed you with a contemplative look.

"What?"

"It's later now."

You looked at him, confused. "Yes…"

"The phone calls. You got them all week. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Right." Nothing ever really got past Hotch. "Dominic has been calling me, incessantly," you admitted.

"Your brother?"

"Yeah. I think my father put him up to it, and as he and I are no longer on speaking terms, I don't want to open any doors to communication."

"You know," he said quietly, as he walked up from his desk to come sit on the couch by you. "You don't ever talk about your mother."

"Well," you began slowly, focusing on a spot on the opposite wall as you spoke, "she wasn't really much of a mother, I suppose. My parents were that couple that should've separated a long time ago. Pretty sure I was the _save-the-marriage-baby_." You expected to see some pity on his face, but he simply sat and nodded, so you continued. "But, when it didn't work my mom sort of went away, always in her own world. Say what you will about my dad, but at least he was around, as much as he could be. She could've been there all the time - she just chose not to be."

Hotch had a way of making you want to talk to him. You'd tell him something awful, and sometimes he'd try to help. More often he'd just listen.

This time, he chose to speak, in his deep comforting voice. "You know, you should be proud. It's kind of amazing that you came out the way you did, given everything." 

You felt a warm glow surround you as you looked up at him, sincerity radiating off of him. "Thanks, I think," you laughed.

Derek's voice cut through the moment, "Hey, let's go you two! I've got mine and Prentiss's report here," he said, striding in and placing two files on Hotch's desk.

You saw Hotch get up, undoubtedly to check their work, but you were done waiting. "Nope, that's for Monday. Come on!" And against his protests, you grabbed his jacket and led him out the door.

The four of you drove over to the bar and found a spot a couple of blocks down. As you started walking towards the bar together, you heard a voice calling you from behind, causing you to tense up immediately.

"Y/N! Y/N, wait!"

You turned to see a large dark figure moving towards the four of you, and as it got closer you recognized your brother's face. Hotch and Derek were both instantly on alert as well, ready to come between you and the man hurrying towards you.

He looked much the same as he had the last time you saw him. He stood as tall and broad as Derek, looking even more intimidatingly large in his dark suit. "Dominic! What're you doing? Following me?" You were pissed.

"I need to speak with you," your brother said, moving as if to usher you away from the others.

You took a step backwards to avoid him and instead bumped into Hotch. "Anything you want to say to me, you can say it in front of them. But remember, they're federal agents, so I'd watch my words if I were you."

He glowered at you for a moment, before accepting that he wouldn't be able to catch you by yourself. "Father has a message for you," he announced.

"Oh yeah? Still playing dad's lapdog, are you?"

"You need to go man," Derek came to stand by your side, intimidatingly.

"You're being ridiculous!" Dominic seethed ignoring him, "You're disgracing yourself and everything we've been taught."

"What's the message?" You tried to remain calm, knowing it would rile him up more to see you unaffected by his old bullying tactics. Maybe then he'd just leave.

"Come home. The family needs you." He repeated what were obviously words fed to him by your father. 

"Tell father to leave me alone, Dom. I won't be his pawn anymore." You tried to do an about face and move the others along with you, grabbing Derek's arm with you.

"You're Emily Prentiss, aren't you?" You'd thought he was done, but his words towards Emily gave you all pause. "I've got a message for you as well…Valhalla says hello."

As you watched Emily's face lose all color, your brother turned around and vanished back into the shadows from where he'd come.

The mood sufficiently ruined, you all ended up back at the office so that Emily could fill you in on whatever or whoever Valhalla was.

As Emily explained her undercover role playing the IRA terrorist's girlfriend - Ian Doyle, codename Valhalla - you started to realize that you never truly know a person. Not that it changed how you looked at Emily per se, but that there are parts to people and their histories that you might never know, despite feeling as close as sisters to them.

"So, if Dominic L/N has a message from Valhalla, then that means that L/N Sr. knows Valhalla too, right?"

"Yes, most likely. I'm going to have my contacts at Interpol look into this," Emily said, in response to Derek's question.

Hotch had been pretty quiet, so the three of you turned to him to see what he was thinking. Noticing all eyes on himself, he looked at the three of you and then more specifically at just you, before sighing and pushing up from the table. Hotch spoke, carefully choosing his words, not quite meeting your eyes. "For some time now I've suspected that the CIA has a case open on Mr. L/N, and I think this pretty much confirms those suspicions."

"Wait, what? Why would you think that?" you asked, unsure of why this was the first time you were hearing about this.

Hotch sighed again, unsure of how to tell you. Slowly, he explained, "To be honest Y/N, I've suspected it since you told us about your dad. Your rejection from the CIA never sat right with me. After your dad was here the last time and the case with Dawson, it made sense that your rejection was tied to some conflict of interest they would have with you being part of the agency and not anything to do with you personally."

You swallowed, trying to process what Hotch had said. If you were honest with yourself, a small part of you knew he was right. It had never sat right with you either, but at the time you hadn't been feeling confident and had assumed your year of partying had somehow been to blame.

"You really believe that, don't you?" You looked up at him as he stood with one hand tucked into his pocket and a furrowed brow.

"Yes, I do."

"Well then, I think a visit to the CIA is also part of knowledge gathering before we can more forward and assess the full threat." Emily's past as a rogue was definitely showing here as she drew herself into commanding position. The rest of you agreed to defer to her experience, deciding that she would get in touch with Interpol and visit the CIA alongside Hotch.


	18. Olympus

Hotch and Prentiss were sat at a table across from two CIA spooks, with a file sitting in front of them. They had been called in after they'd pushed some buttons, but had finally been granted an audience with Agents Brown and McGee. Hotch had a sneaking suspicion that those weren't even their real names but wasn't about to press the issue.

"The information on Valhalla is confidential and need to know. The only reason you are here right now is because Agent Prentiss was part of the initial team for Operation Ragnarök, responsible for taking down Valhalla."

Hotch gauged the two men, trying to figure out the best way to get to the answer needed, but Prentiss beat him to the punch.

"We need to know what involvement, if any, Mr. L/N has with Valhalla."

The two agents looked at one another before looking back at the two of them.

"We understand Y/N L/N is an agent on your team. Any information revealed here cannot be relayed back to individuals who might put active cases at risk." Agent McGee paused and looked at both Prentiss and Hotch sternly, daring them to disagree.

"Agent L/N will not hear of this from us," Hotch reassured them.

"Due to the agreement our directors have come to," Agent McGee continued in his steady droning voice, "we can confirm that Mr. L/N - codename Olympus - is responsible for freeing Valhalla. It is suspected the two of them are working together towards a bigger plot, to upend the progress made since Valhalla's arrest."

"What would L/N have to gain by that?"

"Olympus has been identified as being motivated by power. Valhalla is a powerful ally and would be in debt to Olympus. That is all we can divulge. This meeting is over."

With that, both agents get up and walk away.

"So, how are we going to avoid telling Y/N?" Prentiss asked, as her and Hotch exited Langley parking garage.

"We need to talk to Dave first," Hotch responded, pulling out of the garage aggressively.

*------------*

Rossi had asked the team to join him in the conference room where both Hotch and Prentiss were waiting. You knew they had their meeting at Langley today and you had been expecting a full debrief, but instead the two of them had walked right past the bullpen and hadn't been seen since.

"What're we doing here? Is there a new case?" Derek settled into the chair next to you, matching your confusion.

However, before you could turn your questioning to Hotch and Prentiss, Rossi began explaining the relationship between Valhalla and your father.

"So, his code name is Olympus?"

"Yes."

"Huh, fitting. He always was obsessed with Greek mythology."

"Does anyone have any more questions?" Rossi asked, looking around the room.

"Actually yeah," you looked curiously at Hotch and Emily. "You two were the ones who went to Langley. Why is Rossi explaining all this to us?"

You saw Hotch's mouth move upwards into a small smile. "We promised that you wouldn't hear about your father's involvement from us."

You couldn't help but laugh at his loophole. "You know, I forget you used to be a hotshot prosecutor."

"You best believe it." The smirk on his face was everything.


	19. Interrogation

While you all waited to figure out a plan to apprehend Doyle and bring down whatever nefarious plot your father was concocting, the team still had regular cases to attend to.

This time you'd found yourself getting called out to San Diego where there had been a rash of missing men in their late thirties to early forties and so far only one body had turned up.

"So, we're thinking female Unsub, right?" Derek asked, as the team was settling into the jet.

"Given the sexual assault evidence on the body found and the age of the victims, along with the fact that the eyes were gouged out, it would appear so, yes," Rossi affirmed, sitting down across from Hotch, leaving the seat across from you blissfully empty. You quickly shot him a grateful smile and stretched your legs to reach the other seat.

"Eye gouging is preferential to female Unsubs, with odds of a female Unsub being involved in the event of eye gouging to be 5:1," Reid piped in as he took a seat across from Morgan at the other end of the aisle.

Emily had rushed to occupy the large couch and you knew she was about to pass out as soon as the plane took off. The two of you had had a night of drinking wine at your place and had not been expecting the call to come in at 7am. You'd thanked your lucky stars that you'd thought to drink enough water and that you were still young enough to avoid the worst of hangovers as long as you took that precaution.

JJ was rummaging through the snack cabinets for Cheetos and you asked her to toss you a bag of chips to help settle your stomach.

"Here you go," JJ said, lobbing the bag of Lays at you while you were distracted with your seatbelt. You looked up to see the bag hurling towards your face and it would've reached its destination had Hotch's reflexes not helped his hand to leap out right in front of your face, preventing you from taking a hit. He gently placed it in your lap.

"Thanks, Hotch. Just for that, you can have some," you joked, opening the bag and offering him the first chip. He smiled at you and took two, causing you to giggle and roll your eyes. He'd been more lighthearted lately, something that was unexpected for you all. You'd think with Doyle hanging over your heads that Hotch would be even more grim than usual, but he had maintained a somewhat positive attitude - for him at least. Even Emily had brought it up the night prior as the two of you sipped flutes of expensive champagne that Cedric had sent you in hopes to reconcile. It hadn't worked but it would be a crime not to drink it. "I wonder if Hotch is dating someone?" Emily had mused, suggestively raising her brows. You'd shot that down - you couldn't quite see him dating anyone yet.

The plane ride continued on with the team talking about the case and then everyone splitting off to do their own thing. You looked over to see Emily passed out on the couch as predicted. Seeing as you would be landing in a couple of hours and would be expected to push on full steam ahead, getting some sleep didn't seem like the worst idea. You turned towards the window and closed your eyes with Hotch still looking over the case files beside you.

As you slowly woke up while the plane was making its descent, you felt the warmth of a body next to you, before realizing you were holding onto someone's arm and burrowed into the side of the body that arm was attached to. Rossi noticed your eyes opening first and he shot you a smirk as the realization that you basically held Hotch hostage in your slumber caught up to you. The blood immediately rushed to your face as you moved away from Hotch and released your grip on his arm. _How long had you been asleep like that? Why hadn't he just pushed you away back towards the window?_

"Sorry," you mumbled to Hotch as he was now aware that you were awake.

He looked amused by your embarrassment. "Oh it's okay. Anytime." You could tell he hadn't meant to say the last bit because he quickly looked away, busying himself with gathering his stuff. Rossi looked suspiciously smug. You made a mental note to ask Hotch about that later.

Hotch had been the bearer of Rossi's smugness while you slept. The Italian man hadn't stopped throwing him looks the second you'd moved away from the window and grabbed his arm like it was a pillow.

"Stop that," he'd muttered, not meeting Rossi's eyes, instead choosing to look at you as you slept, tucked into him, looking smaller and more innocent than ever before.

"I didn't say anything." The mirth in his voice was infuriating.

"You didn't have to."

Hotch just shook his head in disapproval. Rossi had asked him about you before. Out of everyone on the team, he was perhaps the only one who had caught on to Hotch's true feelings towards you, which he stifled on a daily basis. Hotch had denied it of course. It wasn't appropriate - your positions, your age difference - no matter how cute you looked as you clutched his arm tight to your body.

*------------*

It had been a rough case as you worked against the clock to identify the Unsub. The latest victim, Justin Chambers, a single father to a little girl, had been taken from his home. Based on what you knew of the disappearance of the only victim whose body you had found, the Unsub kept the victims for 48 hours before disposing of them. You were already into hour 24.

You knew the Unsub was female, in her thirties, and based on the evidence of assault, you had a working profile that she was single or recently divorced. Reid had built a geographic profile based on the location of where the one body had been found and where the other men had gone missing from.

You looked over the details of all the missing victims again and you were all getting frustrated. Morgan and Prentiss were canvassing the neighborhood where the last man had gone missing while the rest of the team was trying to figure out anything else about the Unsub that could narrow down the search.

You stood up to grab another cup of coffee - you had to be stealthy because JJ was ready to cut you off after your last one. As you walked to the break room, you saw Hotch there, getting a refill as well.

"Any luck?" he asked, as he saw you walk in purposefully to the coffee pot.

"Nope"

But, as you reached for the pot, he suddenly moved it out of reach.

"What're you doing?" you asked, annoyed at being denied your caffeine fix despite the little twitch you'd started to develop in your left eyelid.

"JJ said you're cut off," he smirked at you, relishing the game of _deprive-Y/N-of-coffee._

_"_ JJ isn't the boss of me!" you said, narrowing your eyes, trying to swipe the pot from him but he moved it further than you could reach without tackling him. _And that would be taking it too far. Right? Tackling your boss for coffee was frowned upon in most professional settings, you were sure._ Then again, most professional bosses wouldn't deprive a good worker of their caffeine fix.

"Ugh, whatever. Be that way."

He merely raised his eyebrows looking amused at you giving up so quickly.

But as you looked at Hotch, you had a thought. Hotch could tell you had had a realization as you wordlessly walked back to the conference room where the team had been set up.

"Hey Garcia, all the victims, they had girlfriends or wives right?" you asked, directed at the screen Garcia had occupied since you all had setup.

"Yes, they did."

"Can you pull them up?"

"One second." The screen was quickly populated by driver's license pictures of women in their mid twenties. You knew what the trigger was.

"They're all young, y/h/c, and petite. Garcia, that list of suspects, narrow it down to just the ones who've been divorced before, what does that give you?"

"We go down from 250 to 100. Still not narrow enough."

"Narrow it further by women whose previous partners are now remarried."

"40"

"Remove any of the ones whose exes married a woman above the age of thirty."

"Leaves 5."

"Dammit, okay. Can you pull up pictures of all the new wives?"

"Yeah, here you go."

As you looked at the five new pictures, your eye was caught by the third woman, whose face most closely matched the victims' girlfriends.

"The third one, is she pregnant?"

"Yes! Omg how did you know?"

"Who's the ex-wife of that girl's husband?"

"Carol Conway."

"That's her, that's the Unsub."

Hotch and Reid had followed your train of thought, agreeing that the marriage of the ex to a new, younger wife, with whom he was now expecting the child the Unsub never got, was the secondary trigger.

Hotch called in the address to the others as you all quickly put on vests and headed towards the Unsub's rental property, which was the most likely location. "That was quick thinking in there," Hotch praised as you adjusted the radio to dial into the police frequency. "Thanks." You wanted to avoid telling him what made you think of it. You didn't want to tell him that it had been inspired by the thought of him - an older man - with you - and the reactions that would garner from people. Something told you Hotch wouldn't like hearing that you'd thought of the two of you in that light.

Due to traffic, by the time you guys made it there, Morgan and Prentiss had already gone in and subdued the Unsub. As you and Hotch walked towards the house, Morgan was walking a handcuffed Carol Conway to a squad car. You happened to make eye contact with her, and then watched as her gaze moved to Hotch. The look in her eyes made you felt a roll of disgust go through you, and you were happy to see her being put into the back of the cop car.

After the team was back at the police station, Reid and Rossi were going to take the interrogation, with the aim of discovering the location of the other bodies.

You, Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss stood on the other side of the mirror as Rossi and Reid tried to get her to spill by taunting her with her jealousy, but it didn't appear to be working. She kept looking straight ahead, entirely disengaged.

As Reid and Rossi exited unsuccessfully, you all turned back to the drawing board, knowing that finding the bodies of the victims was crucial. You began to think of a way to break her.

While everyone else was talking, your thoughts went back to how you'd initially identified her.

"Uh oh, you got thinky face on." Derek's voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you saw the others still arguing over the best course of action. Derek must've sensed your hesitation in voicing your idea, so he quickly got everyone to quiet down. All eyes were on you.

You cleared your throat, "When Morgan was walking Carol to the squad car, I noticed that she looked at Hotch." You turned to look directly at him - apology painted on your face. "I think we stand a chance by using you. Dangling what she can't have in front of her face again - showing it be stolen by someone else."

Hotch looked a little embarrassed but nodded along in understanding. "You'll have to come in with me. You look the most like the girlfriends and you're the right age."

"Yeah, okay. Let's do this."

As you got to the door to the interrogation room, you took a deep breath. "Hey, Hotch, when we get in there, pull out my chair, okay?"

"You have a plan, I'm guessing?"

"Oh yeah, I definitely have a plan."

"Alright, then I'll follow your lead."

As he opened the door and allowed you in first, you got to see Carol's eyes widen as she got a glimpse of Hotch entering the room. You could've sworn her pupils dilated.

Hotch got to the chair to the left and pulled it out for you. You were about to put on a show. You did your best to flounce into the chair, and smiled sweetly at Hotch. "Thanks honey."

You immediately caught Carol's face turning towards you. _Gotcha_

Hotch began to interrogate her again, trying to plead to her humanity. He reminded her of the children and families left behind of the victims - those who deserved closure.

You made sure to channel your inner mean girl and kept a permanent smirk on your face, staring down Carol.

After much talking from Hotch, you decided enough was enough. _Lights, camera, action._

"You've never had a man that was yours before, have you Carol?" That earned you an angry glare from the Unsub.

You stood up and walked past Hotch, trailing a hand across his shoulders as you came to stand behind Carol. You leaned in close to her ear, knowing that would be your best option at getting a reaction, and then made direct eye contact with Hotch. She noticed.

"Carol, have you ever had a man look at you like he wants you? Like you're the only thing he wants?" Your voice was low and soft. "I don't think you have. If you had you wouldn't be able to settle for a man you have to coerce."

"I didn't -" she began to deny again, but you weren't about to let her.

"But you did Carol. And I get it. It must be hard, it must've been hard when you were discarded by Ted because he thought the sex wasn't good. You felt old, used up, especially when he traded you in for a younger model."

You noted the tension in her shoulders and her controlled shallow breathing. She was hanging onto your every word. You made eye contact with Hotch again, knowing you were reflected in the mirror for Carol to see.

"Have you ever had a man press you up against a wall because he had to have you right then and there, Carol?" You adjusted your hair, careful to wet your lips casually, before continuing, "You see, I don't think you have, because if you'd seen the way he looks right before he enters you - if you'd ever seen the way his face looks when he's lost in you, like you're the only thing that matters - if you'd ever seen the way his voice gets deeper and harsher as he fucks into you and the face he makes when he comes inside you knowing that's the only thing he ever wants to do - if you'd seen all that from a man, there's no way you'd have forced them Carol." You slowly moved to stand upright and walk back to the other side, coming to stand right behind Hotch. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you look right at Carol before finishing, "Because nothing else compares."

She broke then and began to cry.

"Where are the other bodies Carol? Tell us," you asked, ignoring her tears. Hotch was tense beneath your touch, waiting for an answer.

Her voice came out choked and breathy. "By the riverbed, in front of the old warehouse."

You knew the team heard and would now be organizing a search for the bodies. Your hand was still on Hotch's shoulder, so you quickly removed it, and walked out of the room, eager to put as much distance as possible between the two of you. That had been crossing a line, of some sort, you just weren't sure which one.

Hotch couldn't believe that had just happened. When you'd gotten up and started talking to Carol, he hadn't been sure of the approach. But then she hung on to every word. Hotch found himself hanging onto every word too. When you made eye contact with him, he felt a jolt of need shoot through him. As you described sex - really good sex - to Carol, all his mind did was picture pushing you against a wall, fucking you, coming inside you. And then you'd come back around and touched him and it was a miracle he hadn't groaned out loud. In an interrogation room. With an Unsub as witness.

Hotch slowly got up and walked out of the room just to see you walking away. He made the unfortunate mistake of making eye contact with Rossi, who was just outright laughing at him now.

He was screwed.

*------------*

You hadn't talked to Hotch directly since the interrogation of Carol Conway. You'd walked away feeling incredibly embarrassed at how you'd coerced a confession. While it had been a good idea and had worked, you feared you'd gone too far in the heat of the moment. You hadn't been able to resist looking right at him and describing scenes you'd only dreamt of. You were a bit of a hypocrite for having taunted Carol that way. Sex like that - it only existed when you were by yourself and imagining it.

Unfortunately, your interesting technique had opened the floodgates for Derek and Emily to start playing Dirty Truth or Truth on the plane ride back. The two of them together were a lethal combination of impulsivity and lack of boundaries. Derek had dialed in Penelope so she could also join in, knowing she'd be upset at having missed this.

You listened to Emily describe her sexual encounter with a couple back in her college days, in response to JJ's question on threesomes. You could feel yourself getting embarrassed but knew that you were the reason this was even the topic at hand. Hotch had quickly and smartly excused himself from the conversation, citing the need to make a dent in his unending pile of paperwork. As you had no such excuse, you were not able to make as easy of an escape.

You were dreading a question landing on you that you couldn't just give a quick no to. While you were okay flirting and teasing and talking about sex in a general sense, talking about your own sexual exploits was a whole different thing. You knew that the team expected you to be the wild child when it came to all this, and so far your response to the questions around threesomes and public sex had been received with some amount of disappointment.

Hotch was trying to focus on the casework but he couldn't help himself from tuning in to the raucous conversation the rest of you were engaged in, especially anytime you answered a question. Rossi had sat down across from him, a shit-eating grin permanently stuck on his face.

As everyone settled down after Emily's story, it was Penelope's turn to ask. "Hmmm," she twirled a lock of her hair and gave Derek bedroom eyes. "How many knotches has everyone got on their bedpost?" That question was definitely geared at Derek as she'd voiced being curious about it a while back, but you'd all be answering it.

Spencer elected to get it out of the way and quickly said, "Three, and no Morgan, I'm not telling you who they were."

Derek laughed, before motioning towards JJ and Emily to go next.

"Honestly, I have no idea. My lost year was more of a lost decade," she said, laughing and shooting you a quick teasing wink.

"Seven," JJ said while popping a cheeto into her mouth. You looked to gauge Spencer's reaction and you could see his face fall just a bit.

All eyes were turned to you, as whatever Derek's answer would be was the one Penelope would focus on and drag out.

You sighed, but knew you didn't want to lie. "Two," you quickly mumbled, hoping if you said it fast enough you'd all just move on to Derek and it would be over.

But of course you don't have that kind of luck.

"Wait, what? No no, that doesn't make sense. You were New York's top party girl," Emily asked, looking shocked and disbelieving.

"Yeah, well," you trailed off shrugging.

"You're telling me Reid's banged more people than you, Y/N? Come on!" Derek groaned, knowing that Spencer would be ecstatic at not being the lowest anymore.

"Wait, who were they? Please tell me you didn't pass up the chance to sleep with that Cedric boy - he was fine!" Garcia's voice crackled loudly through the tablet speakers.

"My ex-fiancé, Matthew, and then just one other guy - a friend - during my time in New York who I see on occasion," you explained, your cheeks aflame.

"Wait, New York was over four years ago, so you're telling me you haven't met anyone new since…," Emily's voice trailed off as they all looked at you.

You decided to try and laugh it off. "What can I say Em, I'm a bit of a prude when it comes to actually sleeping with someone."

"Huh." You could feel her judging you. You knew Emily had felt closer to you when you'd both been grouped under the Wild Child Exploits label.

"Alright, well my turn then," Derek began, sensing your discomfort and drawing everyone's attention towards him. He was good like that.

You decided to get up and grab a drink instead of listen to Derek regale everyone with tales of the multiple women he'd taken home with him. As you rummaged through the mini fridge at the back, you felt someone's presence behind you. Turning, you saw Hotch standing in the aisle, looking a bit concerned.

"You okay?" He moved to grab something from the snack cabinets to disguise your conversation from the others.

"You heard that, did you? I thought you were too mature for such games with colleagues," you teased. He just looked at you expectantly, still waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, I just, yeah, it's fine, don't worry about it." You fidgeted with the sparkling water bottle you'd grabbed. You just wanted to get back to your seat and sleep the rest of the plane ride home.

"You can ask, you know. I don't mind playing if its just us" He smiled at you gently, giving you permission. The double entendre of his words also wasn't lost on you. It sent butterflies through your stomach.

"I don't have to," you replied, a sad smile making its way onto your face. You knew it was just Haley for him.

"It's okay to be picky about that kind of stuff. Save it for people who are special."

You looked up into his eyes and there was something there. Something deeper. Something darker, secret. Maybe Emily was right and he was dating someone.

You swallowed, before simply nodding and making your way back to your seat, feeling his eyes on you. His look didn't make you feel uncomfortable though. As you settled down back into your seat and met his eyes again across the way, you realized that you didn't mind his gaze at all - on the contrary, it made you feel achingly desired.

You found yourself really hoping Emily was wrong.

*------------*

Hotch was burning the midnight oil once again as Jack was with Jess and he hadn't wanted to wake either of them late. With JJ poached by the CIA, his paperwork had doubled easily. It was nearly 11pm by the time he noticed how quiet the building had gotten. The bullpen was empty and his eyes wandered to your desk - neat and tidy with your chair pushed in. Compared to yours, Prentiss's looked like a paper bomb had exploded over it.

"You got time for a drink?" Rossi had popped in with a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

Hotch smiled and beckoned him in, meeting him at the couch. "What're you still doing here?"

"I thought I'd see how long you like to stay, but I think I've hit my limit for waiting," he said, handing Hotch a glass.

They clinked their glasses and then sat down on Hotch's couch. The quiet in the office at night was something Hotch always relished and it was nice to share that with someone. But he had a feeling that Dave wasn't there just to have a drink together, so he waited, allowing him to speak.

"Aaron, have you dated since Haley?"

Hotch's eyes focused on the same point on the opposite end that you usually looked at when he asked you difficult questions. "You know I haven't."

"Do you feel ready to?" Dave observed him over the rim of his glass, the amber liquid casting a glow around his hand.

Hotch contemplated that. It had been a while since Haley's death and even longer since their divorce. In the final days of their marriage, he'd known Haley was seeing another man. Out of guilt at having forced her into an affair, he'd never asked her the nature of the relationship. Truth be told, he'd been ready not too long after the divorce, but dating required time - something Hotch never seemed to have enough of to give. Haley's death hadn't felt like the death of his ex-wife. It had felt like the death of his life partner - he'd always thought that no matter what they were, at least he'd always have her because of Jack. Jack was doing better though and had been for a while. Hotch himself had grieved and taken time and he didn't dream about her every night anymore.

He looked up to see Dave observing him carefully. Hotch knew he was being profiled right now, but it was Dave so he chose not to mind so much. He matched Dave's gaze then and with a slight uplift of his mouth, he revealed, "Yes, I think I am."

"That's good Aaron." Rossi seemed pleased by the admission. "So why aren't you asking Y/N out?"

And there it was. Hotch shook his head at Rossi's question. "Dave, come on, you know why."

"No, can't say I do. She's smart, attractive, accomplished. She has fire - I know you know that. Jack loves her and she's great with him. She has the same job as you, so she'd understand the time constraints and the emotional toll the job can have. I can't think of a single reason why you shouldn't ask her. Especially since you've been in love with her for quite some time now."

"I'm not in -" Hotch started to say but stopped as Dave rose his eyebrows.

"Don't do that Aaron. Don't lie to me even if you're lying to yourself and everyone else."

Hotch's voice took on a tortured quality as he spoke next, the glass of scotch in his hand long forgotten. "She's so young, Dave. She's got her whole life ahead of her - she would have no problem getting a guy her own age - a guy that's better. She deserves that."

"But what if she doesn't want them?"

"You heard her father, Dave - men who go after women that young - _lecherous old men_ \- that's what he called them. That's what he called me."

Dave sighed, feeling sorry for the man in front of him. "And how would she feel knowing that those words - words that she spoke up against immediately, words that forced her to finally cut her father out of her life - what if she knew that those were the words holding you back from her. How would she feel knowing her father was able to have that control over you - over her?"

Hotch felt the burden of shame that Dave's words had bestowed upon him. He was right. You would be furious that he had let your father get to him.

"Think about it Aaron. Don't deny yourself happiness because you're worried what other people might think. Pretty sure its up to her to decide what she deserves."


	20. Valhalla

Emily had gone rogue. The plan had been to confront Doyle together and get him to give up your father. So, when she didn't show up to work one morning, wasn't answering anyone's phone calls, and you found her badge and gun in her desk drawer, you all knew. She had gone after Doyle on her own.

"He had to be threatening her," Derek said, as the team gathered in the conference room to figure out what to do next.

"Yeah," you agreed. "Knowing Em, he was probably threatening all of us, for her to have gone off on her own like this."

Hotch entered accompanied by Rossi. The two of them were engaged in a rushed co nversation, no doubt planning the next course of action.

Hotch was all business as soon as everyone was there. "The goal is to think like Prentiss in order to find her. She's used to being undercover and moving on her own, so we're going to have to get into her head. So, Morgan, Y/N, the two of go to her apartment and see if there's anything there that will help us find her. Garcia, work the tracking angle. Reid, you and Rossi are going to dig into Doyle and Prentiss's history and see if there is a geographic profile that can be built. I'm going to connect with Interpol and see if they can lend a hand or might know more than we do."

Everyone quickly dispersed to their roles, with you and Morgan heading over to Emily's to see if you could find any clues as to where she might have gone.

*------------*

You sat face to face with Clyde Easter in the interrogation room. You'd all run out of any other leads but Garcia had been able to hack into TSA and have him detained so you could get him to divulge any information that might help you find Emily. You and Morgan had picked him up and brought him in. Morgan had gone to grab Hotch and Rossi.

"What's your name? You know mine so I'm obviously at a disadvantage."

You looked at him, debating if telling him the truth would work for you or against you. Hell, maybe the shock would shoot an answer out of him.

You spoke firmly and clearly. You really wanted him to give you a straight answer. "Y/N L/N. Where would Doyle have taken Agent Prentiss?"

Clyde's eyes widened slightly as he heard your name. He ignored your question. "L/N? As in…"

"Yes. My father. So let's just say this whole thing is personal. Where would we find Agent Prentiss?"

"Why not call and ask your father?" He quirked an eyebrow at you, casually leaning back in the chair and tipping it so it was balanced just on the two back legs.

"We aren't exactly on speaking terms, as you might be able to imagine. Come on Clyde, help me out here. You like Emily. You guys worked together. Doyle is hunting your team. Where is she?"

You heard the door open behind you and Hotch and Rossi walked in. They'd probably been watching you talk to him to read him. Rossi wasted no time. He quickly walked over to Clyde and tipped the chair forward, forcing him off balance. "Where is she? Tell us what you know. Now!" You'd never seen Rossi this upset before. It was getting really hard for everyone to treat this like any other case. You met Hotch's eyes briefly as he nonverbally asked if you were alright. You gave a slight nod, before turning back to Clyde.

You decided to try one more time. "Clyde, if you don't help us, Emily will die." You voice broke a bit as you tried to continue on. "Emily will die. She's all alone and she's facing someone who wants to hurt her. Please tell us what you know."

"If you don't, I will be charging you with whatever sticks," Hotch added menacingly.

He looked at the three of you before sighing and opening his mouth to speak.

*------------*

Clyde's directions had led you to an old hideout of Doyle's. You felt the weight of your vest heavy against your chest as you sat in the back with Hotch driving like a madman. Rossi was sitting up front and you were in the back between Spencer and Derek. You turned to look towards Spencer and saw your own fears reflected in his face. There was a chance you would get there and she wouldn't even be there. She could be anywhere and this was your last shot - that's what it felt like at least. Your hand found his in the dark. Spencer turned to look at you and shot you a quick grateful smile.

SWAT teams met you outside and you quickly went with Hotch and Reid with Morgan and Rossi going in with their own team from the back. You shared a final look with Reid - it was going to be okay. It would be okay. "Y/N, Reid, behind me, let's go." You followed Hotch's voice inside.

You weren't prepared for what you would find inside. You'd made it through a few hallways before you came upon the room. There she was. There was blood everywhere. You felt your gun nearly slip from your hands as you ignored clearing the room and ran ahead, Hotch at your heels. The two of you reached her at the same time and immediately your hands were soaked with her blood. "I feel a pulse." You looked up at him in shock. How had he managed to feel that? There was so much blood.

You let Hotch go with her in the ambulance. He'd be more useful. He was keeping it together much better than you were. This wasn't the same as when you'd seen Haley. You weren't crying and you weren't throwing up outside. Everything was just so loud.

You weren't sure who drove to the hospital, but when you got there you followed everyone else into the waiting room. Hotch was there in the waiting room and JJ was with him too. He must've called her. Of course she would want to be here. Emily was in surgery. 

It was all too bright and loud and it was hard to breathe with the vest around you. Why were you still wearing it. Your hands moved to undo the buckles at either side but it was so difficult. Your fingers kept slipping. There was so much blood.

You felt someone come around to you and take over unbuckling. You turned to see Hotch helping you pull the vest off. He said something. You're not sure what he was saying, but JJ was leading you into the bathroom. You looked bad. There was sweat and grime and blood. So much blood all over you. Emily was still in surgery. It had been hours.

You saw JJ wet a paper towel and then she wiped your face. You shook your head. She didn't have to do that. You walked to the sink and washed your hands. The water turned red. You washed your face and red stained water dripped down before you could grab something to wipe with. She had something that she wanted you to change into. You looked at yourself afterwards in the mirror, a George Washington University sweatshirt instead of your bloodstained white blouse. You wondered where she'd managed to find that.

JJ led you back outside and Penelope was crying and Derek was holding her. Why was she crying? Rossi was holding Spencer. You looked at Hotch as he walked over to you. You felt his arms go around you. You heard his apology. You softly pushed him away slightly. Why was he apologizing? What happened?

You looked at Spencer as JJ now helped Rossi hold him and you looked at Hotch again.

He nodded. Oh.

You reached for him again and he was around you once more.

*------------*

Emily's funeral was on a cold day. The wind hurt your face. Penelope was crying and you saw Derek's eyes well up. You walked back to the cars holding Hotch's arm. Your tears never did come


	21. Dearly Departed

"You're leaving?" It was Derek who had managed to speak first. The rest of you were still processing what Hotch had said.

"I have been given a temporary assignment in Pakistan by the Director and have been told I have minimal choice in the matter. In the interim, Morgan will be Unit Chief." That's what he'd said. You were pretty sure you'd heard him correctly. On their own each of those words held meaning. But strung together like that and coming from Hotch, they might as well have been gibberish as far as you were concerned.

He looked upset at having to leave. He doesn't want to. You tried telling yourself that. But this was also Hotch. You'd seen him stand up to Strauss on countless occasions for the better of the team. So why was he just going along with this? Why was he abandoning you while you were in the middle of the search for Doyle? What about Emily? What about the team? What about you?

You looked around and saw your thoughts in everyone's mind. Penelope still looked struck. Derek seemed more pissed off than anything else. Spencer looked broken - he'd had it the worst with Emily's death. You knew JJ had been with him a lot the past few days. Even Rossi seemed upset. You wondered if Hotch had bothered telling him first on his own or if this was intended to be dropped on everyone all at once.

You could feel the stillness in your body. You weren't sure what you felt yet. Upset? Abandoned? Angry? All of the above? Hotch was clutching the papers that were undoubtedly his marching orders, tightly in his hand.

"What about Jack, Aaron?" It was Rossi who asked that.

You should move. Say something. But what?

"I've arranged for him to stay with Jess while I'm away. He should be alright there."

JJ was still gone too…Hotch was leaving. You looked around at the rest of the team seated at the table and you could feel Derek shouldering the full weight of what Hotch was asking of him.

You felt Hotch's eyes on you. You still hadn't spoken. What was there to say?

*------------*

You'd kept in touch with Clyde Easter after you guys had released him from detainment. At first you'd reached out to him to tell him about Emily - you felt like he should know. He'd come to the funeral and the two of you had spoken briefly. Before he left, he'd tucked a card with a different number on it in your hand.

The two of you had been corresponding for some months now as he worked Doyle from the Interpol angle. With Hotch gone, Derek had wanted to ramp up the search for Doyle but he'd been shut down by Strauss citing jurisdiction. You were forced to move underground. After months of nothing, Clyde had gotten solid proof that Doyle was moving and there might be a window of opportunity coming up. It was time to bring Derek in.

*------------*

"So let me get this straight, after Strauss shut it down, you took it upon yourself to open communication with Interpol to continue investigating Doyle?" You'd called Rossi and Derek over to your house under the ruse of dinner, feeling it would be safest. After dinner the three of you had sat at your dining room table over drinks, when you'd decided to reveal the true nature of the invite.

"Yes," you replied, standing to grab the file from the back of your hidden wall safe. "Here's everything I have on Doyle. Per Clyde," you note the look Rossi and Derek gave one another when you referred to Easter by his first name, "Doyle has operations underway but he has a visibility issue, forcing him underground for the most part. However, he has a meeting scheduled with his stakeholders for which he has to be present. That's our window of opportunity."

"And you trust Easter?" Rossi had left looking through the file you'd put in front of them to Derek. He chose to watch you instead.

"No, but he has nothing to gain by lying to us about this. He's still on Doyle's list and he would much rather we go after him than have Doyle barging through his front door."

"You should've told us, Y/N." Derek had flipped through the file and confirmed what you'd relayed to them.

"Look, you can choose to be pissed at me for not reading you in earlier, or you can help me go after Doyle." You weren't about to be guilted into feeling bad about how you went about this.

"Help you?" Derek raised his eyebrows at your word choice.

"I'm doing this with or without you."

He scoffed and finished his drink. "Yeah, you and what army?"

"I won't fight with you Derek. You want to be pissed, go be pissed. Break something and get it out. But don't act like you don't want to go after Doyle. You're not upset I did this. You're upset you didn't."

His shoulders tensed, feeling the brunt of your retort. You thought he might lash out at you again, but he seemed to be coming to terms with the situation much faster than you had anticipated.

"We still need to find where the meeting is going to happen."

"All we need in order to do that, is leverage over the right person. I have someone in mind," you responded. You'd thought this through. To the end.

"We need to call Aaron."

*------------*

He'd grown a beard. He was back after seven months and that was the first thing you noticed. What anyone noticed really. Besides that he looked tan and more rugged than usual, though that could be chalked up to the lack of a suit. He was dressed like a civilian. Which made sense. He wasn't SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief. That title was still Derek's. As far as you knew, he was simply SSA Aaron Hotchner, temporarily in Pakistan running a joint task force. If the definition of temporarily had been swapped out with indefinitely, that is.

"Sir, the beard suits you," Penelope had told him in greeting.

"Thank you Garcia." Those were the first words you'd heard from him in seven months.

You hadn't gotten up to greet him. You'd looked up in his direction when he entered and smiled, stifling seven months' worth of anger tight inside. It didn't pass your notice that Spencer hadn't stood up either. At least someone else was also sick of taking the high road. You needed that kind of camaraderie.

"Morgan read me in before I arrived. If you're ready, we can talk through the plan to obtain the meeting location and see how it should be executed." Funny how quickly he fell back into the role of Unit Chief. As if he hadn't absconded the throne.

"It's handled. I'm running point on it. You're welcome to join the others in the van or listen in from here with Garcia." Your voice came out a little harsher than you'd intended.

He looked a little surprised but quickly recovered and nodded.

*------------*

"Subject is approaching." Spencer's voice came through the earpiece you had on. You were seated at a restaurant downtown, your hands folded in front of you on the white linen tablecloth. You remembered this place from one of the first times your father had visited you whilst you were doing your training at Quantico. He had come to talk you out of it but hadn't been able to resist taking you to a nice meal.

"Hello sister."

Dominic had arrived with his permanently cocky smirk firmly in place. He took off his coat and sat down across from you, unbuttoning the bottom button on his jacket. A waiter arrived to bring him a drink menu. You'd been nursing yours for some time now. After he had ordered, he looked right at you. He was trying to mimic your father's infamous staredowns. It fell flat coming from him. Maybe you had to actually be afraid for it to have its desired affect.

"So, you've finally come to your senses, have you?" He leaned back in his chair as the waiter quickly dropped his drink off.

"How are Katie and Amara?"

His brow furrowed slightly before he answered. "Katie is fine, she sends her regards. Amara is seven now. She's started second grade."

You smiled. It had been some time since you saw your niece. "That's a good age."

"Yeah, she's cute. She made a family tree for class, you know. Made sure to put you on it. Julian too."

"That's sweet," you answered, stirring your drink with the straw provided. "You love Amara, don't you Dom?"

There was a pause before he replied, his brow furrowed more if that were possible. "She's my daughter Y/N. Of course I love her."

"She's your daughter. You wouldn't want any harm to come to her."

His shoulders tensed immediately as he leaned in closely to you across the table. "What the fuck are you trying to say?"

"Just that it is regretful when children get hurt because they become pawns in their parents' wars."

He was still leaning across the table and his next words came out dangerously low. "You think you can just come in here and threaten me? Threaten my family? And you'll get away with it?"

"You have two options Dom. Tell me where Valhalla is meeting his stakeholders."

"Or?"

"I'm sorry, I misspoke. You only have one option. That was it."

"And if I don't comply?"

"There are US Marshalls waiting to escort you home so that you can grab your wife and daughter and pack any personal belongings. They'll take care of you."

"You didn't say what happens if I don't comply."

You looked at him sitting across from you in his expensive suit. Being almost fifteen years older than you, Dominic used to intimidate you. He was never the brother that spoiled you. When you'd been born he'd been a spoiled teenager used to bullying and taking his misplaced anger out on Julian. But your father wouldn't have stood for anyone laying a hand on you _(Except him apparently, you thought, thinking back to your last encounter with your father.),_ so Dominic had tortured you in other ways.

You fixed Dominic with a small smile geared to unnerve him, before answering his question.

"Papa used to say that I was the pretty one. Julian was his artist. But you Dom, you were always the smart one, right?"

You stood and retrieved a $100 bill from your pocket and placed it under the drink glass.

"You have fifteen minutes. I'll be outside. Clock's ticking."

*------------*

Hotch and Derek stood next to you as the Marshalls helped your brother into the back of the dark SUV across the street.

"You threatened a child in there, Y/N." His voice was low, and yet still carried the full force of his accusation.

You felt the roiling anger bubbling to the top. He had no right to tell you how to handle this. "I won't make excuses for how I choose to fix the mess you ran away from," your rebuke was at the tip of your tongue and thrown at him before he could prepare for the rally. With that, you turned and left, leaving him to watch you walk back to the van.

*------------*

The following day, Hotch had asked the team to come to the conference room first thing in the morning. When you had walked in, you saw JJ standing in a corner talking to Hotch. You'd smiled at her despite being confused as to why she was there. Once everyone was seated Hotch stood at the front of the room. JJ was standing too. Why was she standing? Why was she here?

With all eyes focused on him, Hotch began speaking. "Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team."

Your mind went faster than he could speak. JJ was there. Seven months ago. When he left. When Emily died. Seven months ago he made a decision. JJ is here. She was at the hospital. Why had she been at the hospital that day?

"She's alive," you expelled, pushing up and away from the table and towards the back of the room, furthest from Hotch and the door, your realization propelling you to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the two people at the front of the room.

"What?" Spencer looked at you as you had interrupted Hotch's speech before it had even started.

"She's alive. Emily's alive. That's it right? That's why we're all here. That's why JJ is here and why she was at the hospital that night. Emily's alive." Your mouth was on autopilot as you spoke. The words had left your mouth before you'd truly understood what they meant yourself. It just…fit. It made sense.

"Y/N, we buried Emily. She's dead." Derek stood to move towards you, as if you were having a mental break.

You ignored him. You only looked at Hotch who had stopped speaking as soon as you'd stood up. Both him and JJ were looking at you in what could only be described as horror. Why they were horrified you didn't know. If anything you should be horrified. _What does it say about me that I'm not even horrified at this._ It's almost as if you'd seen the lies coming.

"Tell them." Your eyes bored into Hotch's. It was a credit to him that he hadn't looked away yet.

"Yes."

His confirmation was accompanied by the click clacking of familiar heels outside the conference room and then the door opened and there she was. Emily Prentiss. Back from the dead.

Penelope recovered first, leaping up to go hug Emily. She looked well, you noted. She was walking around the room. She'd hugged Hotch and JJ next. Now she'd moved on to Spencer who looked like he should be sedated. She was apologizing to everyone. Derek could barely bring himself to wrap his arms around her. Rossi recovered remarkably. He pulled her in for a hug and even kissed both her cheeks, causing her to laugh. You hadn't heard that laugh in seven months.

She was walking towards you. You felt yourself physically recoil.

"Y/N." JJ was using her mom voice. The voice that told you to be fair and kind and sharing is caring.

"Don't JJ." You turned away from Emily who was standing closest to you, to face the front again where Hotch and JJ stood. The only two people who had known. Who had watched the rest of you fall apart and allowed it to happen. And instead of sticking around to watch the fallout, they'd both been conveniently far away.

"How are we supposed to trust you? Either of you?"

"Y/N, that's not fair." It's the first time Emily had spoken directly to you in seven months.

"You were dead. But he was here. He saw what it did to us and then he just left and the whole time! He knew! He knew how it wrecked us." You voice fluctuated throughout and you were breathing as if you'd just run a marathon.

There was silence and then Derek was standing in front of you, shielding you from the rest. He tucked the strand of hair that had fallen out of your ponytail behind your ear and leaned in to hold you so he could speak and not be heard. "Let's do this later. Eye on the prize, yeah?"

For him, you let it go. You owed him that. Not them.

*------------*

Hotch watched Morgan hold you and the visual was a gut punch.

No one else had said anything. But you were never quite that easy. You'd never once not shared exactly how you felt. Likely a testament to having stifled how you felt for years. After you'd confronted your father it was an awakening. You no longer held your punches and while it had been something Hotch had admired in the past, right now in this moment, when those punches were directed at him, he had to admit there was a downside. Even still, he couldn't help himself from being impressed. This was why he loved you. He no longer actively denied the fact.

Your words hurt more than he let on. He had prepared for Morgan to be pissed and for Reid to fall apart. From you he had hoped for a hug hello for both himself and Emily.

But then he had to remind himself of seven months ago. The hospital had been the last time you'd let him hold you. After that you'd been gone. There hadn't been any light behind your smiles. You hadn't confided in him about how much you missed Emily. _Well you'd have to be around to have heard that wouldn't you._ His guilty conscience had taken your side and was doing an excellent job beating him up in your silence since Derek had talked you down.

He couldn't deny that he was extremely worried about you. He'd talked to Derek after the Marshalls had picked up your brother but Derek had brushed him off, saying you were doing what had to be done to keep afloat. He wondered if Derek was right. You were treading water to stay afloat because he'd taken the life raft right from under you.

He worried how long you could keep going before the force of the waves drowned you.


	22. Julian

"Garcia, can you pull up the satellite image of the meeting location?"

The team was assembled in the conference to plan out the final details of the mission. Seven months of hunting and searching for Doyle had resulted in an address to a mansion in upstate New York. Garcia pulled up the live satellite image and also managed to find some street view images of the house itself, which she had shared on the screen.

The mood in the conference room was tense. No one truly knew where they stood right now. Hotch and Emily were back, but were they back for good or just temporarily? Rossi had been playing mediator between everyone, but for the life of you, you couldn't tell what good it was doing.

Ever since Emily had revealed herself to be alive you hadn't truly spoken to her. Things had been full speed ahead, but despite that you knew she'd spent the night before at Derek's place. The two of them had a lot to talk about and you were happy that Derek was at least trying to accept her back. He'd tried to get you to come too but you you'd declined citing an upset stomach. He saw through you but had let it go. You'd reconcile when you were ready.

But things with Emily were leagues better than they were with Hotch. The day before he had gone through an initial plan with the smaller team and it had gotten…not well would be an appropriate descriptor.

"SWAT will be on hand for backup as we enter the property. Garcia, you're in charge of comms. Morgan, Prentiss, and I will each lead a team through the home while Reid, Rossi, and L/N will run point from an off-site location. "

"Like hell I will!" You couldn't believe the nerve of him. To think that after seven months you were going to sit on the sidelines and run point. Run point on what?

Hotch looked at you unsurprised that you'd objected. "You are too emotionally involved in the case. It would be a liability to have you there."

You scoffed, trying to mask the urge to throw something at him. "Emotionally involved?! Prentiss spent a whole year sleeping with Doyle!"

"L/N, Stop." Hotch's face was hard and his eyes unwavering.

You looked at both Reid and Rossi who were conveniently looking away. JJ tried to send you a sympathetic look but you weren't having it.

You looked at Emily. She knew. She knew that this was it if she wanted any hope of winning you back. "Hotch, we can't just expect her to not come," she urged.

"It's her father!" He couldn't believe Prentiss. He had told her how you had dealt with Dominic. She should know better.

"If Y/N isn't coming then we're out." You all turned, shocked, to look at Derek. "I speak for me and the rest of us here that were left in the dark. Let's not forget that we wouldn't even have this chance if it weren't for her."

Hotch looked around the room but no one contradicted Derek. He looked at you staring him down defiantly.

"Fine."

Even now though, you could tell he was trying to plan things in a way that would minimize any true exposure you'd have. The plan had changed somewhat overnight once you'd determined the geography of the surroundings.

Hotch and Rossi were planning out the best entry points. In the meantime, you found yourself looking up at screen where Garcia had pictures of the property up. One picture in particular caught your attention. It was an image of the home covered in snow that looked oddly familiar. You knew this place.

"I've been here before?" They all looked up at your voice.

"You have? When?" Emily had asked, as you walked up closer to the screen to get a better look.

"Yeah, I think so. I had to have been eleven or so. My dad took us on a family trip. He said it was a friend's house that he'd borrowed. It was winter and it was covered in snow. It looked just like that."

"Do you remember anything relevant about the floorplan or layout of the home," Hotch asked, still looking at the papers in front of him.

You paused before answering. "No, nothing special. Just a normal house."

"Alright, well here's how we're doing it now. Morgan and Prentiss, you two take the back. L/N and I will take the front."

"No."

Hotch looked at you in outright annoyance. "What now?"

"No, Hotch. You still don't want me to come, you don't trust me. You and I shouldn't go in together, that's not good for anyone right now. I'll go with Morgan."

Hotch appraised you again but didn't have it in him to fight with you on this. If it had been just the two of you he would really want to clear the air and talk it all out. Explain that of course he trusted you, but he didn't want to put you in a position where you had to make a difficult and life-altering call. He trusted you completely as Agent Y/N L/N. As a daughter who was about to go after the man who had raised her, he had his doubts and he was entitled to them. But it wasn't worth the fight and it wasn't worth everyone questioning the plan. So he let it go and agreed. You would go in with Morgan.

*------------*

Hotch watched you buckle into your vest and check on both of your firearms. He wasn't sure when you'd gotten the one strapped to your ankle but had noticed it when he first arrived back. Ever since you'd joined he'd never not paired the two of you together when entering a location. He'd gotten so used to going in with you right behind him. Knowing that you'd be going in with Morgan following you was unnerving. There had been a look on your face ever since you'd all landed in New York that filled his mind with unease. He'd thought about taking Derek aside and asking him to make sure that you were alright but knew that would raise alarms of a different sort.

Derek walked over and helped you rig your wired earpiece and secure it in place. That was another thing that had been holding him back from taking Derek aside. Whatever that was. Since when had you and Derek become so close? Since he'd left and you were forced to find someone else to help you place the wire around your back.

Prentiss caught him watching you and walked over to help him with his wire. "You can't always protect her, you know?"

Hotch looked around to make sure that no one else had heard her. There was no point in questioning what she meant. He looked at you once more as you stood waiting for the order to go in. Even now, even when he was furious with you and worried about you and scared for you, even now, he was completely and irrevocably in love with you. And he knew it showed.

He looked back at Prentiss as she finished securing the wire. "I have to try."

*------------*

It was dark and freezing as you stood at the far end of the property beside Morgan and a dozen or so SWAT guys. You had your firearm clutched in your hands awaiting the results from the thermal scan and the order to enter. You felt restless and you had to remind yourself to stay in the moment. Stay in the moment and don't think too far ahead.

You heard the chatter of SWAT and Hotch coordinating with Rossi and the thermal scan team overhead through the earpiece. You looked at Morgan and met his gaze. He offered you a tight smile which you managed to return. It was so very quiet. The knowledge that the quiet would be over in just a moment was not lost on anyone.

"There are five unidentified males located in the front room. There are an additional three showing up in the middle of the home - assuming it’s the kitchen." Rossi's voice came through loud and clear.

"Alright. Morgan, L/N, are you in position."

Morgan looked at you and you nodded.

"Affirmative."

"Alright, let's go."

The door was broken down quickly and you entered first, quickly clearing the back room. You heard gunshots coming from the front. Quickly, you walked down the hallway towards the middle of the house where the other three bodies had been detected. Every second in the dark felt like an hour. Right before you turned down another hallway you saw movement. You quickly pulled back, just barely missing being shot. Morgan peaked out first and took a shot. You heard a groan of pain. You began to move again.

You'd told Hotch you'd been to the house before. What you hadn't told him about was the small room hidden behind the bookshelf, right off of the entrance to the basement. Your father always did like the intrigue of a secret room.

As Morgan urged you onwards to open the basement door and go down, you ignored him. You instead walked to the bookshelf, knowing Morgan would cover you.

"L/N! What're you doing?" Morgan's whispered question was filled with urgency. You ignored him again.

Your fingers quickly found the third shelf and then grazed along the inner edge until you felt the latch. Morgan was beside you again. The SWAT guys were covering the basement. He'd stuck with you. You quickly looked at him, asking without voicing your question. Of course he'd have your back.

He helped you shove the bookshelf open and quickly dodged another shot coming towards the two of you. Morgan easily subdued the man as the two of you entered the room. The bookshelf swung shut behind you.

"Hello Father."

He was unarmed, standing at the back of the room. For the first time in your life you actually saw a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Derek was still working to subdue the other man in the room, having made sure the room was otherwise clear. He looked to see how close you'd gotten to your father. Why were you standing so close?

"So, you've come to arrest your own father? Are you not ashamed?" His eyes followed you as you got closer. You saw his eyes go to the gun you still had pointed towards him. You didn't stop until you'd reached him, the tip of your gun touching his forehead.

"No Papa." Your voice didn't sound like you.

Derek had been forced to knock the other guy out and he was approaching the two of you incredibly slowly. He had his gun up as well. "Do you surrender?" His voice boomed in the small room.

Your father's eyes went from you to Derek and then back to you once more. He watched you with his dark, calculating gaze. You felt his defeat as he responded to Derek, "Yes."

You didn't move. You didn't lower your gun.

"Say your prayers Papa. Beg for Julian's forgiveness."

Your father's eyes widened.

Derek felt his stomach drop.

You pulled the trigger.

It was truly over.


	23. Aftermath

Derek watched you look down at your father's body. He watched you lean down and grab the shell. Something fell from your hand but he couldn't tell what it was. There was a growing pool of blood on the floor. Then he watched you walk away.

He still had Hotch yelling in his ear and telling you to stop. He still and Prentiss asking what was happening. The door to the hidden room was left ajar. By the time Hotch and Prentiss made their way through and saw the small room, Derek was alone. He'd walked over and picked up what you'd dropped - it was your earpiece. Funny, he hadn't seen you remove it. That's how Hotch and Prentiss found him. Standing over your father's body holding your blood covered wires.

By the time you'd made it outside, the property was covered in a swarm of people. You walked by all the bright flashing lights and the chaos of people and noise until you reached the end of the long driveway. It was quiet there. Quiet was good.

*------------*

Hotch stood in the small room with Prentiss and Morgan, the three of them looking at one another - none of them knew how to process what had just happened. He could hear Dave in his ear asking for an update. An update that he wasn't sure if everyone else on the line was meant to hear.

"It's all good, suspect down. We'll debrief after." Prentiss had taken it upon herself to update the comms line. Their eyes met and he nodded in understanding. She turned to leave and both him and Morgan followed.

Hotch looked towards Morgan, who still appeared shaken. He took out his earpiece as well, before asking "Where did she go?" Morgan shook his head. He didn't know.

Following his example, both Morgan and Prentiss removed their earpieces, turning off the receivers. All three of them began to search for you around the property. Hotch's mind was finally catching up to the reality of the situation. His breathing was getting shallower as the sound of that final gunshot played over and over in his head.

"Over there!" He heard Prentiss's voice calling from a few yards away. You were standing at the edge of the driveway near the walled gate to the property. You'd taken your hair out of its constraints and for a moment he just watched you standing in the moonlight, a breeze blowing your hair gently.

Before he knew it however, he'd taken off in a run barreling towards you. You turned as you heard them approaching, your face completely blank. Before he could stop himself he'd grabbed you and shoved you up against the boundary wall.

Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest as you were thrown against the wall with Hotch standing over you, pinning you down. He was so close when just a moment ago you'd been alone. He was holding you so tight that you were bound to have bruises later.

"What the hell did you do?" You expected him to yell at you, but instead his voice was dangerously low, the look in his eyes sending chills down your spine. He looked terrified. You'd never seen Hotch afraid before. You didn't know what to say. "He surrendered and you shot him! You shot him and anyone could have heard!"

You saw both Derek and Emily coming to stand on either side of Hotch. You noted that all three of them had removed their earpieces as well. "No one heard." Your voice came out low and eerily calm. "No one besides the three of you."

"Y/N, you had your earpiece. There were dozens of people on the line." Derek sounded ragged and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and making sure he was okay.

Hotch still had you pinned to the wall and you felt his arms tremble from the force he was using against you. "No," you shook your head. "No, I had Garcia switch my connection so it was just the four of us. No one else could hear me."

"You planned this." Emily had finally spoken, so you turned your head in her direction and nodded. Her face was unreadable.

"It was the only way to end it," you tried to explain. Your arms hurt and your throat was dry.

"You broke your oath, Y/N." Hotch's voice was like a dagger to your heart.

You closed your eyes to try and hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. The voice that came out of your mouth was small and broken. "I know."

You looked up at him, at all three of them, as they looked back at you, the only light coming from the moon. Swallowing, you pushed gently to help Hotch realize he still had you shoved a foot high against a wall. "But I'd do it again." Your admission rung true through the wind.

*------------*

Hotch had tossed and turned all night long. They'd arrived back late and none of them had wanted to stick around in the office for long. You'd left first, not meeting his eyes as you walked away. The events of the night kept playing over and over in his head as he cleaned up and got ready for bed in the apartment that had sat empty for over half a year. He felt…utterly conflicted. On the one hand what you'd done was wrong. On the other, he couldn't help but feel that it had been just, in its own twisted way. What struck him most was that you had been pushed to that point at all. It could not have been an easy decision to make. An even harder one to carry out. That was what ate at him the most.

*------------*

The following morning when he entered work he walked past the bullpen, nodding a quick hello to the team. He opened the door to his office and sat down, before he noticed the envelopes sitting in the middle of his desk - one large and bulky, the other small. He opened the small one first and his vision blurred as he skimmed the words. His hands trembled as he quickly opened the other envelope and withdrew the Bureau issued gun and badge belonging to Special Agent Y/N L/N.


	24. Fallout

You woke up the morning after with a headache. Was drinking to the brink of alcohol poisoning a good idea? No. But by God did it do wonders for the soul. If you were drinking you weren't thinking. That had seemed like a good enough reason last night.

When you'd gotten back after the mission, you had wasted no time in gathering your things and spending as little time as possible in the building. You'd driven home by sheer muscle memory, because you couldn't remember how you'd arrived in your driveway. You had turned off the car, making no move to go inside. The home felt intimidatingly large and empty from the outside. It was an odd feeling - wanting to be around no one and yet not wanting to be alone. So you sat in the car. Because sitting in the car is a sort of purgatory. You have departed and yet not arrived.

You kept playing the confrontation with Hotch afterwards over and over in your head. Your father's face right before you shot him would forever live with you. But it was not the face that haunted you. No, that was the face of Aaron Hotchner, as he stood too close, held you too hard, and accused you of breaking your solemn oath. You couldn't deny it.

You decided against going inside, but instead turned your car back on and drove back towards Quantico. Best to make this easy for everyone.

When you arrived back home - for real this time - you'd gone straight to the kitchen and poured yourself a drink. And another. And one more for good measure. At some point you had made your way upstairs. You took off your clothes and got clean. You put on your indulgent pajamas - the silky smooth ones that gave even your short frame the illusion of having legs for days. You grabbed the clothes you'd shed and threw them into the trash bin in the kitchen as you poured yourself a few more drinks.

It would appear that at some point you'd stumbled back upstairs and gotten under the covers. That was encouraging. You couldn't have been too drunk if you'd managed that.

Before you could talk yourself into getting out of bed, you were compelled to by the incessant knocking at your door. You had half a mind to just ignore it but it kept going and going. Someone really wanted your attention.

Groaning, you dragged yourself out of bed and grabbed your robe, quickly slipping it on as you walked down the stairs to open the door.

"What hell is this?" You'd just opened the door and were greeted by Hotch fuming. He quickly pushed past you and stepped inside, not waiting for an invitation. This was the last thing you wanted to deal with. You'd thought he would just take it in stride, but apparently not.

You closed the door and turned to face him, suddenly very aware of the fact that your robe was untied, giving him full view of an outfit that you'd never have chosen to worn in front of your boss…ex-boss? It's still early.

"Well?" Hotch was pissed and pacing. His hair was slightly in disarray and It seemed like he'd loosened his tie on the drive over.

"You can read Hotch. You know what it is." In hindsight, perhaps not the best thing to say to the only person in the room that was armed, but you were beyond caring. It was later, and you no longer had to work with him. You could say what you wanted to say, unfiltered.

Your blasé response was infuriating to him. He looked around and took in the disarray of the house and spotted the multiple empty liquor bottles on the coffee table in the living room. He must've realized that there was a good chance you were still a little drunk, because he became too calm. "You don't get to just quit. I get you're upset still - which mind you, I don't get why you're the only one that's still -"

"Oh, you don't get WHY I'm upset? Maybe because you lied to me," your voice broke embarrassingly and it would seem the moratorium on tears was over because there were streaks running down your face, "you manipulated me! And then you left because what? You couldn't handle the pain you were causing?! You should've told me!" Your voice was loud throughout the house. 

"It was protocol, I couldn't tell anyone." His jaw clenched and you could tell he was trying very hard not to yell back. You couldn't care less.

"SCREW PROTOCOL - you should've told me," you cursed, wiping the tears flowing down your face.

He just stood there, shaking his head. Taking a deep breath, he walked towards you and handed you a piece of paper. Grabbing the page from him, you saw the words SENATE HEARING CONFIRMATION.

You looked up at him again and saw him withdrawing your badge and gun from his inner pocket. Your eyes followed him as he walked into the living room and took down the painting that hid the safe behind the wall. You'd only gotten the safe once Jack started coming around and you hadn't wanted a gun and a child in close proximity. He knew, as he'd helped you find someone to install it. You'd picked Jack's birthday as the passcode. You watched as Hotch placed both items in the safe and put everything back as it was.

"As you can see," he said, walking back towards you, "there is a hearing regarding last night's mission. You do not get to quit and call the entire team into question. You owe everyone that much. Only four people know what really happened last night and it will remain that way."

You swallowed. The guilt of having them all know and keep this secret for you, was finally emerging. You looked back at him for a hint of _something_ that would tell you how he was reacting to everything, but he had retreated into being emotionless robot Hotch. You hated that. You hated him.

"Resignation not accepted. You will be at work tomorrow. You will not be drunk or hungover."

His calmness was infuriating. You wanted him to yell back. You'd expected him to come and scream some more about what you did last night. You were still pissed and you realized you were almost itching for a fight. It was disappointing that he'd chosen to give up so easily.

He walked to the door and opened it, stepping outside as you followed.

"You don't get to run away from this," he reminded you, turning around.

You saw red. "Right, I forgot, only you get to do that." The door was promptly slammed in his face.


	25. Judgement

The days leading up to the Senate hearing were miserable. You could constantly feel his eyes on you but he wouldn't allow himself to be alone with you. You knew why. You were still in fight mode and you were mad at him and you should just get over it. You knew that you should. But you hadn't.

The team was grounded and you were all in the office doing reports and paperwork and endless consults. Nothing out of town and nothing where you weren't under Strauss's scrutiny. She'd called you into the office the day you returned and had read excerpts from the mission report that Hotch had turned in to her. He'd written that your father died in the initial ambush. You felt a pang of guilt, knowing that he'd had to lie for you on paper. Strauss asked you to confirm that what Hotch had written was the same as the version of events as you remembered it. What option did you really have?

You had looked across the way when you left her office and saw Hotch bent over his desk. As if he felt eyes on him, he'd looked up and saw you. He must've known that you'd just left Strauss's office and why. He gave an imperceptible nod and then returned to his work. That was it. That was all the acknowledgement you got from him that first day back, and it hadn't improved.

You knew that Emily was worried about you. She'd tried to get you to come hang out and go for drinks with her and JJ. It used to always feel like it was you and Emily and then JJ and Penelope. Now you felt left out a bit - they'd had seven months where JJ had been Emily's only friend in the whole world. You doubted Hotch stayed up late at night playing online Scrabble with her.

You kept declining her invites, however. You didn't want to look her in the face and answer all the questions that you knew she had. Were you getting enough sleep? Were you drinking too much? Were you and Hotch ever going to be okay? You didn't have answers that would help anyone. You wondered if this is how Spencer had felt during his bout with Dilaudid - isolated, on the outside looking in, and so helpless. The freedom that you'd hoped to feel with the scepter of your father gone from above your head - you never really got to feel that.

The morning of the Senate hearing, you woke up early and got dressed quickly. You knew one of the Senators on the committee, having dated him under false pretenses while Hotch was on assignment. He was on the Senate Intelligence Committee and you'd hoped to gather some information on anything about your father. He had been alarmingly forthcoming, but ultimately unhelpful. Regardless, you'd ended on good terms and when this hearing landing on his docket he'd immediately gotten in touch to assure you that you had at least one person in your corner.

However, you needn't have worried. They'd asked some questions and then after speaking with Emily regarding Doyle and the threat he presented along with the team's response, they had been overwhelmingly supportive. All in all, it would've been a good day had Senator Williams not approached you afterwards to say hello personally. You looked over at the team and saw Hotch's fists clenched as the Senator kissed your cheek and reminded you to call him. After looking around to make sure that no one but the team had seen the interaction, you moved past everyone back to your car. They were too smart to ask questions here but Rossi had arranged for everyone to reconvene at his place and you knew they'd descend then.

When you got to Rossi's mansion, you turned off the car and sat there for a few minutes, debating if you should even bother. Technically you'd fulfilled what Hotch had asked of you when he rejected your initial resignation. The team had been cleared. But did you even still want to quit? Yes. No. You weren't sure. What would you do if you weren't doing this?

Sighing, you exited the car and walked into the house. They'd all arrived before you as you'd chosen to take the scenic route.

"Alright, just ask, please? I don't want to draw this out," you said as soon as you walked in.

All eyes turned to you and then back to Hotch.

"Do you have something you would like to share?"

You bit back a retort that wouldn't have bought you any friends in that moment. "I dated Senator Williams briefly earlier in the year," you admitted nervously.

"Wait what? How did I not know about this?" Emily was perched on the arm of one of Rossi's couches holding a glass of wine. She looked a little hurt.

"You were dead." You saw her face fall ever so slightly. "Which is why I was sort of dating him at all. I wanted to see what he might know about Doyle," you explained, gratefully accepting the glass of scotch Rossi handed you.

"Sugar, you didn't, you know…." Penelope nervously trailed off.

You let out a bitter chuckle. "Sleep with him? No, I did not go Mata Hari on a US Senator. I just - I was desperate, okay. What do you want me to say?" The last part was directed at Hotch, who was still the only person standing incredibly stiff.

"I want you to say that you thought through the fact that your connection to him might put the hearing and judgement against the team in jeopardy," Hotch was speaking in a very forced calm manner.

"I did," you reassured him. "I disclosed our prior relationship to the committee the day I found out he'd be presiding. As we'd had no further contact, they didn't have a problem with it." You quickly finished the rest of your drink like a shot. "Believe it or not, Hotch, I actually do think through all the stupid things you think I do."

"Okay! Why don't we just all sit down, enjoy one another's company and relax," Rossi came and dragged you over to sit on the couch and then forced a drink into Hotch's hand as well. "Plus, we have something to celebrate. The return of Ms. Jennifer Jareau to the BAU."

You pasted on a smiled and joined everyone in raising a glass to JJ. As you looked up, your eyes met Hotch's eyes for a moment and the look he was giving you made you feel incredibly exposed. You quickly looked away.

Hotch watched as you moved on to your third drink. He hadn't been around you in a social setting in nearly a year. What he saw concerned him. You had gotten up to fetch your third drink and your dress had shifted up some more giving him an eyeful of leg. You didn't wear dresses to work for practical purposes and he wondered if that dress had been for Senator Williams' benefit. That thought caused him to tighten his grip on his own drink as he watched you pour yourself a drink, quickly down it like a shot, and then pour another before you joined everyone back on the couch.


	26. Forgiveness

You had decided to stay. Well, you hadn't quite decided that - but rather you hadn't been able to decide what to do if you were to leave, so it had been a decision by default. After the Senate hearing, things started to go back to normal. The team began to pick up cases again and you realized why you loved your job. Being out on cases, hunting down new monsters every other week, picking apart someone else's life rather than your own - it was the perfect distraction. You couldn't possibly focus on your own mess when you were stopping evil.

You and Hotch were professional - that was really the best way to describe it. He had taken you staying on in stride and hadn't commented on it if he'd expected otherwise. He didn't pair the two of you together for anything, which was perfectly alright with you. It was nice to not go home and drink every night. You had recognized the signs of alcoholism emerging in you and had made sure that it wasn't something you were becoming overly dependent on. You weren't - not unless you were home and alone that is.

Things with you and Emily were getting better. You'd gone out with her for dinner - just the two of you. It was nice to talk to her about nothing again. You knew you'd been unfair to JJ and so had offered to babysit Henry, which she'd taken you up on immediately. You'd also been helping her study for her profiler certification. That really only left Hotch, and you had no idea how to go about fixing that.

On the last case, there had been one room short so you'd offered to bunk with Emily. The two of you had had fun, making a sleepover out of it. JJ had joined, dragging Derek and Spencer along as well. The five of you had done face masks in yours and Emily's room and exchanged stories from college. It had been nice and felt so incredibly normal.

When everyone else had left, you and Emily had crawled into bed, your hair done up in braids. In the dark she'd confessed how happy she was that the two of you were good again. How sorry she was and how many times she'd stopped herself from picking up the phone and calling you. Your hand found hers in the dark and you entangled your fingers together, a sad smile on both your faces.

"Y/N, do you think you and Hotch are ever going to be okay?" Her voice was barely a whisper in the dark room.

You swallowed, turning to face her, unsure how to answer her. "I don't know Em. He really hurt me. I know that he was doing it to protect you and I am thankful every single day that he did. But then he left. He left knowing that I needed him. I forgive him for not telling me. I can't seem to forgive him for leaving."

You felt her hand on your face, brushing away the tears that had come unwantedly. "Eventually you will," she said, lightly pushing you to turn around so she could hug you from behind. That was the nice thing about Emily - she said the right thing and she would always offer to be the big spoon.

*------------*

Hotch had watched you very carefully during cases ever since the day of the Senate hearing. You'd decided to spent the night at Rossi's that day, which was the only reason he hadn't commented on the uncharacteristic excessive drinking. But he watched you for the signs. He knew them well.

However for all intents and purposes you seemed to have a grip on the situation. He wasn't sure if that was cause for concern in and of itself - were you actually managing it or were you just incredibly good at hiding it? He hated not being able to talk to you about it.

*------------*

Hotch was helping Jack get ready, the morning before he was meant to fly out for a case, when his son asked for you. He asked why you hadn't come around for their dates anymore since his father had come back. This had been news to Hotch as he had no idea what Jack was talking about. As far as he had known, Jack had spent the seven months with Jess and her family an hour away. When he dropped Jack off at Jess's place for the week he had pulled her aside.

"Hey, Jack mentioned that Y/N had seen him during my overseas assignment. He made it sound like it happened pretty often."

"Oh yeah, I figured you knew Aaron. Honestly, she was a God send. Every Saturday without fail unless your team was on a case, she drove over and took the kids for the day. They did a bunch of stuff all summer - the Zoo, Aquarium, Circus," Hotch looked down at his sister-in-law in complete bafflement. "Andrew and I started using Saturdays as date night. She'd come back and tuck them all into bed and just wait until we got home. I thought for sure Jack mentioned it to you."

Hotch quickly fixed his expression and just muttered something about having misunderstood. Jess nodded understandingly. "Well anyways, since you bring it up and you'll see her before I do, let me just grab her umbrella that she forgot last time. Could you bring it back to her?"

He'd nodded in agreeance and drove to work in a confused state of mind. You'd driven an hour there and back every single weekend that you were free to take his kid and his niece and nephew off of his sister-in-law's hands, the entire seven months he'd been away. What the hell was he supposed to make of that? That wasn't something anyone did for a friend - right? It just wasn't. So what on earth was he supposed to think? How was he supposed to tell his son that it was his fault that he no longer got to see his favorite person in the world.

He pulled into the parking garage breathing harder and trying to control the onset panic he was experiencing. How was he supposed to fix this?

*------------*

You were sitting on the plane already by the time Hotch arrived late, which was very unlike him. You looked up and nodded at him before returning back to the case file in your hand. He was the last one to board, so he went and gave the okay to the pilot and stowed his stuff away. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Rossi get up from the seat across from you, only to be replaced by Hotch. You looked up, unsure of what to make of the look on his face. He was holding something, and as he placed it on the table in front of you, you recognized it as the umbrella you'd left at Jess's and promised to drop by and grab, right before he'd come back. You hadn't been back to her place since.

You muttered a quick thanks and moved to grab the umbrella and put it away in your bag, but his hand covered yours. You looked at him, eyebrow raised in question. He looked upset, that much was clear, but you weren't sure why. You had to stop yourself from covering his hand with your other or standing up and going around to hold him. Seeing him upset, hurt.

"You went and saw Jack, every single week." His voice was low and full. It hadn't been a question, but you found yourself nodding just the same.

"Y/N," his voice broke but hearing your name from his mouth again felt so good. It had been so long since you'd been anything besides Agent. "I am so so sorry and I will do anything you want in order to prove it. Can we please be alright? Please."

You immediately felt the tears welling up in your eyes. You had to swallow a sob as you looked at him. He looked so broken and so sincerely apologetic and you couldn't believe you'd held a grudge for so long. You nodded, before quickly getting up and turning into the alcove where the bathrooms were, out of view of the rest of the plane. You wouldn't cry in front of everyone. In a second he was there too, crowding the tiny space and looking at you as you met his eyes. You weren't able to stop yourself as you reached for him and drew him one step closer until he was right against you. You wound your arms around his waist, face burrowed into his chest. His arms held you tight immediately. It had been so long. "I'm so sorry, I am so so sorry." He just kept repeating himself as your hands tightened around him.

If anyone on the team noticed the interaction or the fact that the two of you stayed in the alcove far longer than needed to simply use the bathroom, they wisely didn't comment on it. He let you into the bathroom first so you could fix yourself up a bit. Your face looked a bit worn from tears but a quick splash of cold water helped. When you exited, he was still waiting for you. You reached up and fixed his tie into place before walking back to your seats. As you sat down, you caught Rossi's eye and he smiled knowingly at you. For the first time you found yourself actually returning one of those smiles as a slight color came to your face. Things were going to be alright.


	27. Loyalty

"What're you doing tonight?" You and Hotch were the last ones to leave the office, having stayed late to finish up all the paperwork that had been piling on him. Penelope mostly did the case selection part, but with JJ also a profiler now, he was pulling double duty still as Unit Chief and Media Liaison and the work was seemingly endless.

"Picking up Jack from daycare and grabbing a pizza for dinner," he admitted as you pressed the button for the elevator. You smiled at that. Hotch was a stickler for healthy eating when it came to Jack, so pizza was a treat for him. "You wanna come? I know Jack would love it if you did." The _As would I_ went unspoken.

You looked at him and nodded, accepting the invite. It was just as well, as you had something you wanted to talk to him about. Ever since the day on the plane, you two had returned almost entirely to pre-Emily dying normal. Which meant that you and Jack saw each other frequently. It had been about a month and while being back to normal was great, you two had swept a lot unsaid under the rug and you'd come to the conclusion that in the spirit of being emotionally healthy it was good to address it. This presented a good opportunity.

You offered to grab the pizza while Hotch picked up Jack. Apparently it was a busy night for pizza because you were told it would be a while before it was ready. After texting him the ETA, you decided to go home and change out of your work clothes and into what was essentially loungewear.

By the time you arrived, both Hotch and Jack had cleaned up and changed. Jack was helping to set the table while Hotch picked out a bottle of wine for the two of you to share. He'd brought up the alcohol thing with you after you two made up and you'd told him that it had been the only way you could manage to fall asleep most nights when you were alone at home. However, you'd gone cold turkey on the solo drinking after a bit and he knew that it was back under control. He had been relieved and so proud of you, knowing how hard that must've been.

When you arrived it seemed like you'd had a chance to go home and change into comfier clothes. He relished these little looks into the part of your life that he didn't get to see very often. The Y/N he saw at the office that was always put together versus the one he got to see in these moments. To him, you still looked effortlessly beautiful wearing leggings and a sweatshirt. He recognized the sweatshirt as his own that he'd thought he'd misplaced a while back.

"Hey, come on in. Where'd you get that shirt?" He asked, grabbing the pizza box from you.

You looked down at the sweatshirt you'd thrown on and realized that you had no idea how you'd acquired. "I have no idea, why?"

"Pretty sure it's mine." His face had this soft teasing smile that made you blush ever so slightly.

You looked at it again, attempting to read the letters backwards. It was from his law school. That jogged something in your memory and you remembered when you'd gotten this particular article of clothing. "Oh, I think JJ gave it to me when she was helping me at the hospital back when Emily…," you trailed off knowing he knew what you meant.

Hotch nodded but didn't want to dwell on that night. Instead, he smiled again and led you in to where Jack was at the dining table. Turning around as you followed him, he said, "Well, you should keep it. Looks better on you anyways."

You laughed as you hugged Jack hello. The three of you managed to have a really nice dinner of pizza and wine (grape juice diluted with water for Jack) and listened to Jack regale you with stories from daycare. By the time Hotch was done cleaning up and you'd helped Jack get ready for bed, it was late, but at least you didn't have work the next day.

When you exited Jack's room, slowly closing the door, Hotch was waiting for you with a second glass of wine. You grabbed the glass from him and the two of you sat down on the couch.

"So, what's on your mind?" he asked, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

"How do you do that?" How do you just know?" you asked in amazement. Hotch had a way of knowing when you had something you wanted or needed to talk about.

He shrugged, but beckoned you to move closer so you guys could talk without being too loud and waking Jack. You sat your glass of wine down on the coffee table and moved so you were right next to him. You took a deep breath, knowing he was listening to and watching you with his complete attention.

"I'm glad we're good now," you began softly, looking ahead instead of at him. He murmured a agreement. "But, you shouldn't have been the only one to apologize."

You turned to look at him and his soft brown eyes looked at you with such warmth. He must've sensed that you had to get this out, because he didn't interrupt.

"I am so sorry. I abused your loyalty to me and forced you into lying on the report. I know what you went through with Elle, and I knew that if you could you'd help and I abused that. I am sorry for doing that - for taking advantage of who you are. It was incredibly selfish and unfair and I am so sorry for putting you in that position."

He was really quiet as he listened. He didn't know if he could tell you that he'd lie for you a million times over if need be. He'd pretty much hit pause in telling you how he truly felt, a long time ago. So instead he said, "Okay. Apology accepted. However, you should know that even if you hadn't put me in the position - you could've told me your intent and I would've done anything to help you regardless."

You nodded, a small watery smile on your face. "I know. Thank you."

Hotch looked at you for another second more before bringing his arm around you and pulling you in to him. The action caused butterflies in your stomach as you wrapped your other arm across his stomach and curled into his side. The two of you sat on the couch together until Jack found the two of you like that the next morning, fast asleep.


	28. Defy

You were making lunch for yourself, Hotch, and Jack when you heard the doorbell ring. Hotch looked at you and you nodded at him to get the door. You can vaguely hear him grabbing the door and talking to someone briefly before you hear a voice you haven't heard in years.

"Y/N, you should answer the door to your own home yourself. It's impolite to ask guests to answer for you."

You felt your stomach clench at the familiar nagging voice.

Hotch was standing in your living room with your Mother. She stood in front of him, deftly removing her gloves and giving you her patented look of disdain. _What on earth was she doing here?_ You hadn't seen your mother since graduation. Once you'd stopped attending the mandatory family events she never once reached out or came by. Your father had tried, but she never cared. So the fact that she was standing in your living room was causing your brain to go into hyperactive mode.

"Mother," you swallowed, walking out from the kitchen and into the living room. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well, if you would answer your phone calls, I wouldn't have to come here in person." She sniffed and proceeded to walk around your living room and take a seat on the couch. You looked at Hotch and he shot you a quick reassuring smile.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself instead of freaking out that she was here. "Mother, this is my friend - coworker - Aaron Hotchner," you tell her, indicating towards Hotch. "Hotch, as you might have gathered, this is my mother." The pained smile on your face does not escape his notice.

But Hotch is ever so polite. His presence is the only thing keeping you from being rude and asking her to simply leave. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. L/N." He smiles and she returns it with a haughty look, still surveying your home.

Right then, Jack comes running in and bumps into your legs. You quickly kneel down to his height. "Hey, you okay? What's up?"

"Y/N, where are the paints?" He asks, as he looks around at his father and notices the stranger sitting on the couch.

"They should be in your room Bud. Check in the drawers." You're very aware of the fact that your mother is watching you interact with a child that is very obviously not your child, who just so happens to have a room in your house. You hated that she was here and able to get a glimpse into your life. A life she had no right to be a part of.

He nods. You turn back up to see her looking at you expectantly. "Mother, this is Jack."

"My son," Hotch interjects, sensing your unease. "Jack, please say hello to Y/N's mother, Mrs. L/N," he prompts.

"Hello Mrs. L/N, it's nice to meet you," you hear Jack say precociously. His father taught him well. "Y/N," he says next, turning back to you, "can I go look upstairs for the paints?"

"Yeah, of course. If you can't find that, let me know and I'll come help." You quickly smile and run a hand through Jack's hair before he turns and runs back upstairs.

Turning your attention back to your mother, you see the shock evident in her face. She was not expecting this when she walked arrived at your door today. This bizarre picture of domesticity that you painted with Hotch and Jack. It was foreign to her.

You wanted her gone, so you asked Hotch to man the stove while you spoke with your mother. He nodded and touched your arm reassuringly before retreating to the kitchen.

Hotch watched as you walked over to the armchair nearest to your mother's spot on the couch and lowered yourself into it. He had his eyes on the stove but his ears were pointed to the living room. Everything he knew about this woman had his guard up.

"Mother, why are you here?" Your voice was softer, more hesitant.

"This is a very interesting setup you've built for yourself. Setting up house with an older man and his child."

"Hotch is a friend, Mother," you reminded her.

"Hm, a friend whose child has a room of his own in your home. Do you think I'm stupid, Y/N?" Her low voice is filled with poison as she speaks to you. "If you had simply married Matthew, you could have had this for yourself instead of stealing someone else's."

Her words caused your heart to ache. She thought you were having some sort of dirty affair with Hotch. You could feel the pin pricks of tears in your eyes accompanied by pure rage but she was the last person you'd ever allow to see you cry. How dare she barge into your home, accuse you of stealing someone's husband, and then remind you of a relationship that you were all too eager to forget forever?

However, you controlled your reaction, knowing that Hotch was still there and didn't need another terrifying view into your awful family. You asked her again, "What are you doing here?"

"I refuse to go through lawyers to get what is rightfully mine. You'd think after being married to the man for years, I wouldn't have to suffer this disgrace!" She was referring to the fact that your father's will had you and your brothers named as the primary beneficiaries of his estate. Your mother was given a small annual allowance, far less than was needed to maintain her lifestyle. You'd wanted very little to do with the matter, however with Dominic in WITSEC still and Julian no longer around, you were the person set to inherit everything. You'd already put aside half for Dominic and were working with the Marshalls to make sure he and his family would be alright. Your Mother - per your lawyer - had been harassing him and your father's lawyers ever since. You wanted to just give her what she asked for, but your lawyer was advising against it as her demands were getting increasingly outlandish. He'd have a field day when you told him about this.

You were determined to keep this as civil as possible still, however. "As you've been told before, I will be going through our lawyers to arrive at a decision we can both live with. I am doing my best to make sure that you are taken care of, however I will not simply hand over everything. Papa was not a good man and I'd like for his money to be used for some good at least."

Her eyes flashed at your words and you knew she was entering into the state where she said anything she wanted. "I will not stand by while you squander all the money on whatever ridiculous cause you've picked up this week. The only good thing you ever did was agree to marry Matthew - he would have taken care of you and I wouldn't have to see the day where you think you're better than us because you're a middling police officer instead of being someone I could proudly point to as my daughter. You have been a disappointment for years now and this whole act you have of being kind and generous and wanting to do good in the world is disgustingly transparent! You even ruined the Matthew thing despite him being so accepting and understanding of your deficiencies - "

"Do not talk to her that way." You turned to see Hotch suddenly standing behind you. He looked completely pissed off in a way you hadn't seen before. "Y/N is amazing and kind and generous and accomplished and everything she has achieved is a credit to her and her alone. She did everything in spite of you and your husband."

You couldn't believe he was standing in your living room and telling off your mother that way. _Does he really think that?_ It's Hotch, of course he does. You could feel the warmth coursing through your body and his presence emboldened you.

Standing, you turned to your mother who still sat on the couch, dazed at being called out. "Mother, please leave. I never wish to see you again. I will do my very best to ensure that you get what you need, but if you ever show up around me again, I'll make sure you get nothing."

Your voice must have been filled with true conviction, because she went from looking dazed to enraged in a moment. However, she must have taken your threat seriously. She stood and looked between you and Hotch, before she said, "Fine." and then proceeded to walk out the door, slamming it behind her.

You looked back at Hotch who now only seemed completely concerned. He reached towards you and you allowed yourself to be pulled into his chest. "Thank you." Your words were muffled against his chest but he heard you nonetheless. You wanted this moment to last forever. So, of course the fire alarm went off.

You watched as Hotch went to go take care of the pan you'd both forgotten on the stove. Lunch would be delayed. You watched as he deftly cleaned up and then began to chop vegetables again so you could start over. You always felt safe and taken care of with Hotch. Even in the field, being partnered with him gave you a sense of security despite how worried you'd get when he threw himself in the path of an Unsub. He was such a good leader and such a good friend and he was always warm and of course everyone else thought he was grumpy but you'd never understood that. He was funny and attractive. He was in control and he was so smart - he always saw the full picture of the profile faster than anyone else. You admired his uncanny ability to be a good boss and then turn around and be a good father to Jack.

_I love him._

No thought had ever been clearer in your mind.


	29. Perception

You had just got back to the bullpen from a meeting with the FBI Director, Walter McKinney. Your meeting with the Director that day had been incredibly important, so you had dressed very carefully. Both Hotch and Rossi had pulled you aside ahead of the meeting and told you that it was a first step towards being tapped by FBI leadership as having the potential to move into the higher echelons of the agency.

You sat and thought about the meeting before you had to go debrief with Hotch and Rossi on it. You thought the meeting had gone relatively well. Director McKinney had praised your consistent results despite the unsavoriness of the involvement of your father. The FBI had pretty much brushed their involvement with him earlier under the table, but McKinney had wanted you to know that he understood the difficult position you'd been in. He'd also emphasized how important it was to be above reproach when you want to move up.

"Plenty of Agents are perfectly happy staying exactly where they are, and there is nothing wrong with that," he'd told you. "However, in moving up, you become more visible and your reputation becomes linked to the Bureau's reputation. It is important to be always mindful of that."

You'd also been thinking a lot about you and Hotch lately. You weren't sure if you should say or do something because he was still your boss and you two worked together. However, you couldn't deny that there was something there and you were pretty sure it was mutual. There was no way that someone had the level of comfort and domesticity the two of you were able to achieve, and not have something be there. You'd realized that the reason you didn't go on dates with other men and went out of your way to accommodate both him and Jack into your schedule had been because you were in love with him. You just hadn't realized it. However, he did the same and you had to believe that it meant that he felt something for you as well.

You walked towards Hotch's office when it was your turn for the career talk. Emily had just wrapped hers up and was exiting with a smug smile on her face. She winked at you as she passed, causing you to smile.

You knocked and entered, to see Hotch seated behind his desk and Rossi sitting across from him. You grabbed the chair next to Rossi. They both looked at your expectantly.

"It was good," you reassured them. "McKinney seemed like he actually wanted me to do well. He had all the reports you two sent him and I think he's convinced. I know I won't know officially if I'm tapped until the ball, but outlook is good."

Hotch smiled, relieved. He'd turned in all the recommendations and reports on you, knowing that you deserved all the recognition possible. Both him and Rossi agreed, that out of anyone on the team, you were most suited to move up the more political branch of the Bureau. You had a knack for it that couldn't be taught.

"That's great, Y/N," he said warmly. He turned to look at Rossi next. "This means we need to prepare her for the Ball."

Rossi nodded. "Good job Kid."

"Thanks."

You were about to let them proceed but something made you realize that you had to say something before you were on a path you couldn't turn around from. "He also said something about perception."

The two of them looked at you, pausing their planning.

"He said that perception is a big part of moving up and how you're perceived matters more than what you actually do sometimes."

They both nodded. You looked at Hotch and saw his brow furrowed slightly. You turned away and looked at Rossi instead, because you weren't sure you'd be able to get it out while looking at Hotch. "What's the typical perception when people are involved with their coworkers. Particularly supervisor-employee relationships?"

Rossi looked confused before you saw the light go on in his head. Sighing, he said, "Not always great. It can cast a shadow of questions around how someone went about moving ahead."

You nodded. That's to be expected really. Steeling yourself, you faced Hotch again. He looked really confused at your question to Rossi but you could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to make sense of where you were going.

"I am determined to have a great career," you said directly to him, "but it doesn't have to be here."

"Then why are we here, Y/N?" he asked, leaning in towards you.

You looked from him to Rossi, who nodded just barely. You had to just do it because Hotch was too proper and never would. "Hotch," you stopped for a second. He looked confused and concerned and he wasn't going to get it and you were about to make a fool of yourself and Rossi was there but if not now then when? You began again, "Aaron, would you like to get dinner sometime?"

Hotch's brain stopped functioning the second you called him by his name. He swallowed and you knew he knew. From the corner of your eye you saw Rossi get up and excuse himself, quickly walking out the door and leaving the two of you alone.

Hotch stood up and came around to your side of the table, prompting you to stand as well. He swallowed and you couldn't help but watch his face for any sign of something - a yes or a no - something.

"That's the first time you've called me Aaron," he said. His fingers were just barely skimming the side of the arms.

You nodded. You'd always called him Hotch directly - he'd asked you to. He was standing so unbelievably close but he still hadn't said anything to really acknowledge what you'd asked him.

"Just to be clear, dinner isn't just dinner, right?" His voice was barely a whisper and it caused goosebumps to erupt all over you.

"No."

"Are you sure?" He was asking if _you_ were sure? But he was also looking at you in a way that you knew the answer was a yes. You wouldn't be talking like this if it wasn't He wouldn't be touching you if he was going to say no. Hotch wasn't cruel like that.

You licked your lips and took a deep breath, trying to focus on anything besides how good it felt to have him touch you. But you were also incredibly nervous because this would change everything and you had to be certain that you were both on the same page. "Are you?" you asked. "Because I know you, and I know what this will look like, so I need to know that if we do this - in a month or a year from now, you won't freak out. You won't surprise me one day and say that you're too old or not good enough or that I deserve better." You heard him suck in a breath. "Because, you have to know that the age thing has never mattered between us and that's only going to matter if we let other people get to us. And you are good enough - you're a better man than I could have ever hoped to be with. So I need to know if you're sure, because I won't survive having my heart broken by you."

He'd stood there and listened to you. Listened to you pick up on everything he'd ever let stop him from taking this step that you'd so boldly taken today. Listened to you quell every worry he'd had about it. Listened to you talk about him in ways he'd only ever heard you talk about when he happened to catch it, and never directed at him before. He felt his heart soar and then break, knowing that your biggest fear in all this was only ever being hurt by him leaving.

His hand came up to cup your cheek and he looked at you with such love and adoration, his eyes conveying the full breadth of his sincerity and respect towards you. When he spoke his voice came out heavy and gravelly. "Sweatheart, you're it for me. You've been it for me for years now and I should've told you. You're the only person I want to see all the time and if I got the chance to do that, I'm never letting go."

You realized you were crying as he spoke but don't have a chance to wipe your face as he does it for you, swiping his large thumbs across your cheek. Before you know it his lips are on yours, and your eyes flutter shut. He is insistent against you, his hands still holding your face, pouring years of longing and pining into this one kiss. Kissing someone should always feel like this, you thought, before he briefly broke the kiss with a gasp, only to capture your mouth again, eliminating any thoughts all together.


	30. Natural

You and Hotch - Aaron - _that is going to take some getting used to_ \- hadn't had much of a chance to talk further. Rossi had knocked shortly afterwards and made a remark about everyone being decent. The two of you had asked him to keep this whole thing under wraps for the time being until you figure it out more, but before you could he'd gotten a call and suddenly you were on a case.

Being on a case with Hotch after having spent fifteen amazing minutes in his office kissing him was incredibly distracting. You were constantly worried that you would say or do something that would give it away, however so far you'd kept things very professional. Probably a little too professional, because Emily had asked if you and Hotch were okay when you'd gone to interview the witness. You'd just shrugged and said yeah, hoping she wouldn't catch you in a lie. Lying to her about this would be the worst part but you really needed to talk it out with him about how the two of you would go about doing this.

It didn't help that one of the local detectives had taken somewhat of a liking to you and you had to spend any time at the police station dodging his attempts at flirting. You'd tried to just tell him that you were in a relationship - not a lie really, because you were sure that you and Hotch would be shortly if you weren't already - however he'd instead taken that as a challenge to try even harder.

"Agent L/N, may I help you find anything?" Detective Smith had cornered you once again in the breakroom and it was really starting to get a bit much. You resisted asking him if harassing women was condoned in Oklahoma City.

"Detective, no, thank you. Just grabbing some coffee." You would think your minimal interaction and the fact that you didn't even make eye contact would be enough of a hint, but some people were just clueless. Part of you wanted to have Hotch just tell him off, but another didn't want to be that girl that relied on her boyfriend to solve problems for her. You were an adult and dealing with pushy men was unfortunately part of the territory. You could manage.

"You know," he walked over to stand closer to you, "there's a lot of things to do in town, maybe I could show you around. We could grab a drink."

Before you could rebuff his latest advance, however, Hotch happened to walk into the breakroom as well and your relief must've shown on your face because he quickly raised his eyebrows at you. "L/N, Detective Smith." He acknowledged the both of you before grabbing the coffee pot you were handing him.

"Agent Hotchner, help me out here. I'm trying to get Agent L/N to let me show her the sights of the city after your team helps us catch this guy." He was trying to be a bro with Hotch. Boy did he read that one wrong. That kind of thing might've worked with someone else, but even before this, Hotch would've just told him to focus on the work and not waste precious time flirting with his team.

"Detective Smith, while I'm sure that Oklahoma City," the way he said Oklahoma City he might as well have said _Dumpster down an Alleyway_ , "is quite nice, my agents are here to do a job and I would prefer if you didn't distract them or waste precious time and police resources flirting with them." But he didn't stop there. "Additionally, as I'm sure Agent L/N has already mentioned to you, she is in a committed relationship. Not that I'm in the business of sharing my coworker's personal lives with relative strangers, however he's a pretty big guy and I just want to help you out and let you know not to bother."

The giddy girly part of you just focused on the part where he thought you guys were in a relationship too. It was also pretty hot having him subtly threaten someone on your behalf. You'd never had someone do that for you before and the primitive part of your brain got some thrill off of it.

"Right, right, sorry," Detective Smith managed to stammer out, before walking out of the breakroom.

You controlled your laughter as long as possible but you couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I'm sorry, did I say something funny?" Hotch was holding his coffee cup and looking at you oddly.

"No…but you look a little weird though. Am I in trouble _Agent Hotchner_?" You added a teasing little lilt to your voice when you called him Agent Hotchner, causing his eyes to darken.

He moved closer so you were right next to one another in the breakroom. "You did tell him you're in a relationship, didn't you?" He looked down at you with his stern face but you knew he wasn't entirely serious. If anything you saw a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes, sir." And his dark eyes got even darker. You made a mental note to explore this at a later date.

"Alright, carry on." And he walked away, sipping his coffee as he did.

_Damn._

*------------*

On the plane ride back after having successfully caught the Unsub, you were listening to some music towards the back of the plane, while looking out the window. The lighting was dim and most everyone else was sleeping as it was pretty late. Emily had been sitting in the seat across from you but had moved an hour ago to force Spencer to share the couch with her. They were both asleep on it, his head lolled onto her shoulder.

Hotch was still awake, sitting near Rossi near the front of the plane. You wished he'd get some sleep as well, but he rarely ever did on the plane. You turned to see him getting up and walk back towards, taking the seat your legs were stretched into by lifting them and placing them on his lap. You took the earbuds out of your years and smiled. "Hi."

"Hey." His voice was soft and you could tell he was at least drowsy. "I was thinking, since we have tomorrow off, if you would want to go out - but lunch instead of dinner. Don't want to waste the whole day if I can see you earlier."

Your smile got bigger at his explanation. "Yeah, of course."

"Good. Dave offered to watch Jack for the day so it'll be just us."

"Okay." You realized you hadn't ever actually hung out with Hotch without Jack, intentionally. This would be interesting to say the least. His hands were gently massaging your calf muscles now and you had to suppress a moan. That felt incredible. Any time he touched you felt incredible.

You watched him as he focused on the task at hand, his face betraying how tired he felt. You were grateful that Rossi had offered to take Jack, but felt bad that he'd spend the day after a long case running around after a little kid. "Hey, you wanna have Rossi over for dinner? That way we can eat with Jack and make sure that he isn't too pumped up with sugar to sleep properly."

Hotch smiled, recalling the last time Dave had babysat for Jack. He'd let him eat pixie dust which might as well be cocaine for children. Jack hadn't slept all night and had wandered into his bed in the early morning, completely exhausted.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." He couldn't deny how easy it was with you. You'd already been there through everything and you knew what to do and what to say and being with you was as easy and natural as breathing. He couldn't imagine taking any other woman on a date and then having dinner with her and his son and Dave afterwards. But with you, of course that's how you guys would end the night. He got that it was also your way of making sure you saw Jack tomorrow and if it was possible, his love for you grew even more in that moment.


	31. Sundress

You'd woken up extra early the next day, a bundle of nerves. Hotch had said he'd pick you up around eleven after dropping off Jack at Rossi's. The night before, as you tossed and turned in excitement, you had realized that this was your first date since Foyet happened. Between work, making sure Aaron and Jack were alright, and then all the family stuff you'd dealt with, dating had been on the back burner. Then again, you couldn't imagine having dated anyone but Aaron in the intermediate.

Since you'd been up extra early, you had time to prep for dinner later with Rossi and Jack. You'd managed to cut all of the vegetables and marinate the meat, along with actually get ready for the date itself. When the knock finally came at your door - right at eleven - you felt your heartrate increase.

You went to go open the door and there was Aaron Hotchner, holding a small bouquet of dahlias - _who does that anymore_? He was dressed in jeans and a dark polo and he smiled and he looked _so good_.

"Hi," you said, opening the door wider to let him.

"Hello," he responded, his voice low and happy, "you look beautiful."

"Thanks." You looked down at the sundress you'd chosen to wear since you rarely got a chance to wear dresses on the job. He handed you the flowers so you could put them in a vase with water.

Once you'd put the flowers in the center of the kitchen island, you turned back to him, catching him watching you. The two of you had really only kissed the one time in his office so far. _But no time like the present_.

"You ready to head out?" he asked, as you approached him.

"Mmhm, almost," you smiled as you got to him and went up on your toes to press a light kiss on his lips. You must've awakened something in him, as he responded immediately his hands finding your waist, and before you knew it he'd picked you up and placed you on the island, his lips still on yours, his tongue peaking out to tease your lower lip. You opened your mouth slightly and granted him access and he took full advantage, exploring your mouth and nipping just barely at your lips. You could feel the warmth pooling in your stomach and couldn't help your legs winding around his waist, your ankles crossed together, holding him to you as your hands found their way into his hair. His hands quickly moved to your thighs, holding them firmly around him as he continued to fervently kiss you. You had to finally break for air with a gasp and you looked at him, his eyes following yours, you felt yourself color at how absolutely beautifully wrecked he looked. Both of you were breathing hard. His hand came around to your face and pulled gently at a curl that had fallen out of place.

"We should probably get going," he said, his tone suggesting that if you two didn't leave right then, things were going to escalate quite a bit more. You nodded, unwinding yourself from around him and reached out to fix his hair, after which he helped you jump down from the counter. He did not, however, let go of your hand.

You allowed him to lead you out the door where he opened the door to his car for you and helped you inside. When he got into the driver's side and started the car, his hand found yours and then didn't let go again until he pulled into the parking lot of a national park.

Once you were both standing outside, he reached into the trunk and grabbed picnic basket and blanket and then reached for your hand again. You grabbed the blanket from him against his protests but fixed him with a look so he relented.

"So, where are we?" you asked as he led you down a small pathway, your hands intertwined together. You were glad you wore wedges instead of real heels but Aaron was still being careful to make sure you could walk easily.

"I used to come here a lot when Haley and I first moved to DC," he explained, as he walked slightly ahead of you, clearing a path. "Our old apartment isn't too far and I'd come here to run, but haven't been back in years since we moved. I thought you might like it." As he said that, the path opened up to a clearing and you had a view of a gorgeous lake with a grass covered lawn surrounding it. As your day off happened to be a weekday, there weren't too many people around, but your could imagine the place would be bustling with families on a weekend.

"Aaron, it's gorgeous," you gushed, squeezing his hand as he led you to a small path of grass under a tree where you'd have a full view of the lake.

He grabbed the blanket from you and the two of you set up underneath the large tree. He'd packed a full spread of food including sandwiches and a bottle of white wine. As the two of you settled in and ate, you couldn't help but feel a little relieved at how easy it felt. You were both trying and you were both a little shy but all in all it was the two of you and now when you wanted to just brush your fingers against his arm, you could.

The sun was warming you and a gentle breeze was picking as you finished eating and moved to lean against the tree, completely stuffed. _Good thing I wore a dress._

"Thank you," you murmured to him as he scooched around to come sit perpendicular to you so you two could see each other closer. His lips are slightly upturned and you find yourself cupping his face and gently kissing him. When you move back, his eyes are still closed and he has the absolute longest lashes. You'd never been the person who ever initiated in the past but with him it was so easy and you really couldn't stop yourself if you tried.

He laid down with his head in your lap as the two of you enjoyed the nice weather. Your hand carded through his hair while he held your other in his. You asked him about his family that he never seemed to talk about. You knew he didn't care much for his father but he told you about Sean. About how Sean was the favorite but he still felt a responsibility to keep his baby brother out of trouble. How he hadn't shown up to Haley's funeral and that had really made Aaron take stock of their relationship. His voice hitched when he talked about Haley and you could tell he was feeling a little awkward talking about her with you. You reassured him that Haley would always be a part of his life and Jack's life and you wouldn't ever want to change that. He relaxed a little more at that. Having Aaron Hotchner so relaxed under your touch was something you'd definitely cherish.

The two of you bided the afternoon away at the park just sitting and talking and occasionally kissing. As it drew closer to evening you packed up and made your way back to your place to start preparing dinner. Rossi would be bringing Jack soon and Aaron wanted to be sure that dinner was ready by then. You'd briefly discussed what to tell Jack and had a rough idea but were going to wait until the next time he was over for a playdate to talk to him about it together.

When you got home, you cleaned up as Hotch started getting ready in the kitchen. You'd changed into something comfier for home and grabbed a bottle of water and hopped up on the counter as you watched him grab everything from the fridge. "You need any help?"

"No, I'm alright. You just sit there and look pretty," he joked, resulting in you sticking your tongue out at him. The last time you'd been here before this morning had been when your Mother had dropped by. He noticed your contemplative face as he asked what you were thinking.

"Just that the last time we were here, so was my Mother. Kind of crazy to think how much has changed."

"Mmhm," he agreed. "All changes for the better, though," he said, coming to stand in front of you and quickly kissing you. You smiled into the kiss. 

"Actually," he said, pulling away, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, "speaking of your Mother," he spoke slowly and hesitantly, "I remember that day when she was talking to you about Matthew."

"Uh huh."

He was gauging you carefully as he continued. "She mentioned something about deficiencies and you flinched when she said that, as if she was attacking something directly." He noticed you wince. "If you don't want to talk about it -"

"No," you stopped him, but you weren't quite looking at him either. "No, um…I'm sorry." You took a quick shallow breath. "I - um - I was going to tell you, but I just wasn't sure what the right time was for something like that."

You looked up to see his concerned face as he ran his hands soothingly down side of your thighs.

You continued, "Back when I was in my last year of college - I was already engaged to Matthew."

Aaron was nodding attentively, and you could tell he was bracing himself but keeping the focus on making you comfortable.

"We were coming back from something - a party - and I should've driven, but I didn't, he did."

"He was drunk," he inferred. You saw his jaw tighten.

Your voice was shaking a bit as you spoke, but you really wanted to tell him. "Yeah, he was. We were in an accident and I got hurt pretty badly. They had to operate and well...there is a strong chance I can't have children. " You watched as he looked a bit surprised and he was about to say something, but you chose to continue and just get it out. "My Mother felt I should be grateful that he wanted to be with me still. She was wrong though - he never let me forget how lucky I was that he was still choosing to be with me." The last few words were very quiet and you'd never told anyone that before. How he'd constantly reminded you of your failure. How you should feel grateful that a man would still look at you. Your relationship had been over long before you found out about your father's true nature.

Hotch was very quiet as he continued to touch you soothingly. You felt compelled to fill the silence. "You don't have to say anything, I know it's a lot, and I'd understand if - "

He cut you off with a quick kiss, soft and full of meaning. When he pulled away he looked right at you as he held you in front of him. "I am so sorry, sweetheart."

He was trying very hard to hold it together, knowing that your mother had thrown this obviously very painful event in your face. Hotch was surprised but then he thought back to how easily you'd taken to Jack and how quickly the two of you had bonded. He realized this must be especially painful given how much you loved kids - you'd be an amazing mom. You already were around Jack. He'd never really considered more kids but knew it would be a possibility if he were ever with someone else.

You smiled a bit, letting him know it was okay, that he didn't need to say anything else, but he continued, his voice low and gravelly. "When we decide if we want more kids, we'll figure it out then, but I don't want you to worry about this, not with me, not with us." His face was earnest and kind and _this must be what it feels like to have someone love you_.

"I know," you whispered, your fingers bunching up in his shirt. "To be honest, I really wasn't worried, I just felt guilty I hadn't told you," you confided, your voice low as your forehead touched his.

"That's alright," he whispered softly. You could feel his warm breath on your face. "And hey, for now, we have Jack, and he keeps us plenty busy."

You laughed, pulling him in to you again.


	32. The Ball

Jack had had a sleepover the night prior and his friend had just left. The two boys barely slept all night and you and Hotch could both tell that Jack was exhausted. So, at the first sign of a yawn, you nudged him towards his room for a nap. You'd come over in the morning to help with breakfast because Aaron had been on his own the night before. You would've joined, but he'd insisted he could handle it and had pushed you to go hang out with Penelope and Emily instead. You hadn't told the team - even Emily - about the two of you yet. It had only been a couple of weeks since your first date and both of you wanted to keep this to yourselves for the time being.

You had, however, discussed telling Strauss. With the Ball nearly upon you, you figured you should tell her and make the relationship official sooner rather than alter to avoid having it seem as though you were hiding it. Aaron had agreed, though you could tell he didn't love having Strauss know his business. The two of them still had somewhat of an antagonistic relationship ever since she'd questioned his ability to lead the team soon after his divorce. When he'd told you about this, you'd been shocked. That would have been right around when you joined the team, and while yes he had been more subdued and quick to anger those first few months, you had hardly seen reason for Strauss to have questioned his leadership.

"Jack's asleep," you told him, when you found him in his room, finishing up folding the laundry. The yawn you'd been suppressing for a while finally came out.

He smiled at you as he folded the last shirt. "Sleepy?"

"Mm a little. Emily is seeing someone new and so of course Penelope pulled out her computer and now I know that he has a cousin in Utah that was arrested for a misdemeanor charge in 2006," you explained, as you helped him put the clothes away in his closet. You appreciated that Aaron was a very neat and orderly person. Everything had a spot and it was just how you would've done it yourself.

"Well," he said conspiratorially, as he came and hugged your from behind, "Jack is taking a nap. We could also take a nap."

He was holding you so close and he smelled just like his Irish Spring soap and musk and something sweet that was uniquely him. "I hope you actually mean a nap," you mumbled, as you felt his lips against your neck "because that sounds amazing."

He gave a low chuckle as he dragged you over to the bed so you both could lay down. You laid down right next to him, his arm under you as you slung an arm over his stomach and your leg over his. You were quiet for a few minutes, as he tried to let you actually sleep. His hands played gently with your hair and Aaron always ran so warm it was like sleeping with a personal heater. However, now that you were actually lying down, sleep was elusive. You tilted your head up to see him watching you with a slight smile on his face.

"That's not sleeping," he murmured, as he continued to gently massage your head. You'd always liked having someone play with your hair - it was so soothing.

"I'm not actually sleepy anymore," you admitted with a small pout.

"Hmm." His voice was still low and quiet, in the hope that you might be lulled into a nap anyways.

You reached up to his face, a single finger tracing the outline of his face, down his perfect nose, across his pink lips. You'd really allowed yourself to appreciate him lately and it continued to amaze you how breathtakingly beautiful he was. Part of you couldn't believe you hadn't noticed it before but the other part knew that you hadn't let yourself go there. He seemed to be enjoying your exploration as he closed his eyes and just let your fingers ghost over his features.

"Aaron?"

"Mmhm."

"Where do you want to be after the BAU?"

He opened his eyes to look at you, not expecting the question. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know…I guess with the Ball approaching and us talking about my career and future and all that…I guess I just kind of wondered. What's next for you?"

He let out a large breath as you sat up slightly on your elbows to look at him properly.

"I don't know. When I first started I wanted to do the whole move up thing, but the longer I'm here I don't know if I'm suited for that." He had a far away look on his face - like it was a thought from so long ago that it was entirely removed from the person he was now.

"Why not?" you asked, as you watched him carefully.

"It's a lot of paperwork and a lot of…difficult decisions. With the BAU it's more clear cut - we catch bad guys. Occasionally things are more complicated, but overall I feel like I do good in the world and I get to go home and not worry about the politics of moving up."

"Hmm," you said, coming back down to lay on his chest again.

"What is it?"

"I think Director Hotchner has a nice ring to it," you shared, pressing a kiss to his chest.

"Director?" You could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, you'd be a great Director for the Bureau." You really truly believed that. He was such a great leader who commanded respect - yours and everyone else's.

"Well I'm glad I have someone's vote," he laughed, trying to brush off what you'd said. That was an ambition for the old him - the one that had just had a kid and was married to Haley and had a whole life in front of him.

"You'll always have mine," you confided, as you hugged him closer, burrowing in more to his side. "McKinney should be scared."

He had a really soft, perfect, _I-am-Aaron-Hotchner-and-I-make-women-swoon_ smile on his face as he looked at you. Aaron brought his arms around you at that, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sure he's shaking in his boots as we speak."

*------------*

The meeting with Strauss had gone as well as could be expected really. You and Hotch had asked to meet with her early in the day, before anyone else got there and when you'd explained that you needed to declare an official relationship, she hadn't seemed all that surprised. Which was surprising to you at the very least.

"Have you told your team yet," she'd asked, as both you and Hotch sat in her office and filled out the required paperwork.

"No, not yet." Aaron had responded quickly, not looking up as he said it, concentrating on filling out all the details.

You smiled and looked at her, knowing you had to compensate for his utter dislike of this whole situation. "We just want to keep it to ourselves for now," you'd explained. "It's hard enough working with profilers without everyone knowing everything."

She'd nodded understandingly, but added, "Well, I doubt anyone would be too surprised. I wouldn't wait too long if I were you."

Aaron had simply smiled and stood up, but Strauss asked you to stay behind for a moment.

You looked at her in question as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

"You should know that this could impact the tapping process. I will do my best to ensure that it doesn't, however situations such as this can raise some eyebrows. Are you sure about this?"

You thought about what she was implying, turning to look at the seat Aaron had vacated just a moment ago, before looking back at her. "He's worth it." The answer came easily. It was just that simple.

*------------*

The night of the FBI Director's Ball came sooner than expected. You'd chosen to get ready beforehand with the girls, and the four of you had made a day of it. Aaron saw you when you entered the venue, having arrived only minutes earlier himself. You walked in with Emily and you were wearing a dark green gown which complimented you perfectly.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Aaron startled, only to see Dave standing next to him in a matching tux, with a shit-eating grin on his face. Sometimes he forgot that Dave knew, since the rest of the team still didn't. He grabbed the drink proffered by Dave and rolled his eyes good naturedly. No use denying he'd been staring. "How're you liking her odds tonight?" he chose to ask instead, changing the subject.

It was common knowledge that the annual Director's Ball was where up and coming talent was recognized. Aaron himself hadn't gone through the tapping process, but had heard of Bureau stars who were tapped at the Ball, go on to lead new taskforces, teams, and missions - have great careers within the Bureau and beyond it.

"Good," Dave responded, taking a swig of his drink. "I spoke with Erin about it and she still seems pretty confident in her recommendation. She did have to bring up the matter of you two to McKinney, and the final decision will be his."

Aaron nodded as he saw you approach with the rest of the team. Everyone had decided to meet up early on and grab a table together, so you all began to walk over. Aaron conveniently made sure to find himself right beside you. "You look beautiful," he said, leaning in just barely. He saw the slight blush rise to your face as he complimented you, his eyes running appreciatively over you again.

"Thanks," you smiled, "you look pretty good too." He really did. The man could always pull off a suit, but a tux was just a whole new level of attractive.

He pulled out your chair for you as the group found an empty table in the main room and grabbed the seat right next to you. Emily had grabbed the one on your other side and everyone else had found a spot around the table. Past years, the Ball had been nothing more than an excuse to drink and eat on the Bureau's dime and have fun with your coworkers. This year, however, you had to network and get to know other Section Chiefs and anyone who rolled up directly to McKinney. Both Hotch and Rossi had told you that having all of those people on your side was of the utmost importance. Aaron had already been helping you out in that regard, making sure to bring you along to some inter-departmental meetings and getting your name and face out in front of other leaders. You'd asked if he was giving you special treatment, as you couldn't recall him having done this for anyone else. However, he had assured you that he was not, and that if Reid or JJ to want to move along a similar path, he'd do the same for them. Prentiss and Morgan had a lot more experience and connections of their own, so they wouldn't need him to run interference as much.

Once dinner concluded, the string band started playing ballroom music. You all watched as some coworkers began to lead their partners out onto the dance floor. Derek quickly asked Penelope to dance as well, and the two of them were off, with Will and JJ joining them soon after.

"Alright kiddo, let's do this." Rossi reached for your hand across the table and you quickly accepted, allowing him to lead you out onto the dance floor. He knew that with you, he'd at least be guaranteed a decent partner - Emily had both left feet.

"He's right, you know," Rossi said, as he gently spun you around the dance floor, "you do look beautiful."

You smiled. It was nice having someone know about the two of you.

"You really think I have a chance tonight?" Dave had some experience in this matter - more so than you or Aaron.

"They'd be idiots not to pick you." As he said this, the music changed, and Director McKinney had walked over to ask Rossi for your hand. Rossi graciously handed you off, swaying back to the table for his tenth drink of the night.

McKinney smiled at you and respectfully took your hand in his, his other at your waist. "Hello Agent L/N."

"Good evening, sir." Your heart was thudding in your chest, knowing this was the moment.

"You dance very well," he remarked, as he easily led you through the motions.

"I used to dance as a kid. Not easy to forget." You quickly flashed back to the numerous recitals and lessons - most of which your parents had missed.

"I see." He looked contemplative. Sighing, he says, "You should know, the recent revelation of your relationship complicated the decision making process slightly."

You choose to just nod, not trusting yourself to say anything constructive.

"However, I would like to inform you that you can consider yourself officially tapped."

You felt your heart jump as a large smile broke out across your face. "Thank you sir! I really appreciate it."

"You will be working with me directly. You should also know, the only reason this process was not pushed off the tracks is because it is Aaron you're with."

You looked at him in question, imploring him to continue.

"Agent Hotchner is above reproach. Were it anyone else, we'd have questions about the recommendations and reviews. However, I trust Aaron and so I trust that the two of you have done your due diligence and kept everything above board."

"We have, sir. Thank you. I very much appreciate the opportunity."

As he continues to spin you, you catch Aaron's eye over McKinney's shoulder. You quickly shoot him a grin and a wink, indicating that you got it. His face breaks out into the biggest smile, and you can see him making his way towards you through the crowd. He reaches the two of you right as the music changes, and seeing Aaron approach, McKinney stops.

"Aaron, good to see you."

"Director, how are you?"

The two of them shake hands and exchange pleasantries, before McKinney takes your leave to tend to other guests, promising to have his assistant get in touch with you very soon. Aaron takes that as an opportunity to grab your hand for the upcoming dances, pulling you in much closer than Rossi or McKinney had.

"Congratulations sweetheart," he whispers into your ear as he holds you close, swaying along to the music.

You look up at him and it takes everything in you to not kiss him right there in front of everyone. He catches the look in your eye, because he maneuvers the two of you to a corner of the dance floor where no one on the team is around. Squeezing your hand, he quickly looks around, before leading you off the end and out a side door. Having seen a supply closet across the way, he urges you to follow inside, closing the door behind.

Before you could take another breath, his mouth is greedily on yours, tasting you and drawing out a breathy moan, his name on your lips. Your back is pressed up sharply against a shelf, but the need to just touch him and feel him far surpasses the discomfort. You find yourself unbuttoning his shirt, just to be able to feel skin while he continues to explore your mouth.

His hands have worked their way under the dress and his hands roamed upwards and came in contact with your bare ass. Aaron pulls away, a little surprised at the thong, before returning to his exploration.

You'd managed to open up the collar of his shirt and move your mouth from his, resulting in a whine that turns into a moan as your lips come in contact with his neck. The desire to mark him as yours is something new you're experiencing, but your dedication to the task at hand rewards you with more sounds.

Not satisfied being alone in his ecstasy, Aaron's hand grazes over your breast, drawing a sharp inhale from you as a knot starts to form in your stomach.

"Do you like that?" his voice smooth despite him being a moaning mess a second earlier. You watch as his fingers ghost over your breast and your nipple hardens under his touch. "What about that?" He looks up finally to meet your eyes and his pupils are dilated beyond belief. Briefly you wonder what you must look like.

You'd never really pegged yourself for being much of a talker, but having Aaron talk to you as he touched you was definitely a turn on. You nod shakily, prompting him to cup your breast and run his thumb over the bud, maintaining his eyes on yours. You're afraid you're going to be too loud, so you reach up and kiss him again, allowing him to swallow your moans as he continues his ministrations. You can feel the dampness growing in your underwear and you swear you blacked out for a second when he breaks away from your mouth and takes a nipple into his mouth instead, biting gently through the fabric of your dress.

_"Aaron!_ " You meant for it to be a sharp rebuke but instead what came out could really only be a groan of pleasure.

He looked up at you with false innocence, knowing exactly the effect he'd had on you. However, taking note of where you two were at the moment, he returns his attention to your mouth with promises of continuing later.

By the time the two of you leave the supply closet, trying not to look as though you'd spent the past thirty minutes engaged in intense foreplay, the party was dwindling down and your friends had been looking for you for quite some time.


	33. Trust

Aaron was pouring over the case file for possibly the hundredth time that day. The team had been called in early after the bodies of two missing kids from a decade ago had been surfaced by a storm. These cases were always the hardest - both because it was from so long ago that any evidence that was available had been subject to the environment and also because any case with kids always filled him with a sense of guilt and unease at being away from Jack.

It had been a long day, starting with briefing in the jet for the entire time. You'd arrived a little late, leaving only the seat across from Prentiss open. Reid had taken the seat next to him which he had hoped you'd occupy. He'd seen you very little this past week. Your meetings with McKinney had begun and he knew that was eating into the already limited time any of them had available. You'd managed to make it to his place for dinner one night, and Jack had been thrilled to have someone else to play with for a bit. Even then, you'd left early citing the large pile of old cases McKinney wanted you to brush up on and had left with a quick kiss goodbye.

Aaron hadn't realized how much he'd gotten used to having you around until then. He and Jack had gone to the fair and you'd had to beg out as McKinney had asked you to accompany him to an inter-agency meeting at Langley. You'd called Jack to apologize and promised to make it up to him, before quickly speaking with Aaron about a possible trip the three of you could take soon. He'd agreed that you would plan something when things got a bit more calm.

Hearing a knock on his door, he briefly wondered who it could be. The rest of the team had gone down to the hotel bar for a drink. He'd declined and encouraged them all to get some sleep, but of course his advice fell on deaf ears as Prentiss had rounded up the troops. He opened the door to see you, having changed from your suit into a matching pajama set. These were the little things that made him realize how different you were from Haley. It was such an odd thing to fixate on, but Haley had always been the mismatched large shirt and shorts kind of person, likely thinking that a matching pajama set was just too much effort or pretention to bother with. The few times he'd seen you dressed for bed (the time that the two of you had fought in your foyer with your robe wide open and a matching short silk and lace nightgown underneath always came to mind) it suited you. It was like another puzzle piece in how you always carried yourself in as put together a manner as possible. It would be wrong if that entire visage fell apart at night - like it was all a lie for the outside world.

This pajama set, however, was very decent and work appropriate - cute almost in the way that it made you look even younger than you were. He smiled, not having expected to see you tonight. The two of you still did a pretty good job of separating your work from the relationship and even now the team didn't know.

"Hey," he says, ushering you into the room. "Everything alright?"

You have some papers in your hand and you had just briefly smiled in a distracted - maybe nervous - sort of way as he'd let you in. Everything about the way you held herself was just a little bit off and it was quickly triggering a response in him as well. Was it the case? Was it you?

You gave a sort of half laugh as you sat on the bed and nodded. He came and sat beside you, waiting for you to speak. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you when we're in the middle of a case," you say, indicating towards the case file that's still lying open on the desk. "The stuff with the lawyers finally ended, and I just have something a little time sensitive that I need you to look over, if that's alright. "

He nods, feeling himself relax a little now that he knows that nothing is wrong. As you hand him the papers to look over, he notices you fidgeting with the edge of your top. It was always your tell when you were a little uncomfortable or out of your element, he'd come to learn. He takes the papers and takes his time reading through the entire document. It was a legal document setting up a trust in Jack's name, to be distributed to him when he's 21. Until then Aaron would be in control of the trust, with a stipulation for early withdrawal for college if needed. It was the number at the end that really knocked the wind out of him. He'd known you were well off - of course he had. But to know you had enough to easily set up a trust for Jack of this size was a whole another thing. He wasn't sure how to feel about this. On the one hand, you'd always treated Jack as your own even before the two of you had gotten together and yet on the other, the two of you still hadn't… Wasn't it too soon for something like this? Too much? Could he really accept this when the two of you were still finding your bearings together?

He looks back up at you to see your expectant gaze, having watched him as he read. He doesn't know if he has an answer yet. Taking a breath, he asks, "Can I read it over again and think about it?" He knows it isn't the answer you wanted but you control your reaction remarkably well, only smiling and nodding.

"All the terms are completely open to change - the age of withdrawal, any other stipulations you might want to put in place - good grades, or anything really. I just had a standard one drawn up," you tell him, your voice maybe an octave higher than normal.

He nods, getting up to put the papers away in a folder at the bottom of his bag. "When do you need an answer by?"

"Friday, if possible," you reply, getting up as well and moving towards the door. You'd already bothered him in the middle of a case with something that was a personal thing. The two of you had this unspoken agreement that work was work and you hadn't wanted to intrude upon that.

"Wait," he moves towards you, reaching for your hands. He holds them in his own before leaning down and placing a soft, tender kiss on your lips. "Thank you," he says, pulling away just a bit but still not leaving much room between the two of you. "I just want to think it over, but thank you for doing this for him."

You smile - a real smile this time - and he thinks he should just sign it then because maybe you'd smile at him again like that. "Of course, Aaron." You lean up and capture his lips taking the time to taste him as his own find your waist and push you gently against the wall for purchase.

"I'll leave you now, I know you're in case mode," you say pulling away from his lips which seem insistent on following yours. His pout makes you laugh a bit, before you break away and slip out the door.

*------------*

The team had split off into groups to go track down the Unsub. Garcia had sent you all three different locations and Hotch had split everyone up to go make the arrest. You and Reid had arrived at the last known address, only to find it empty. You hoped the others had better luck as the two of you looked around the apartment. He was definitely the Unsub - everything about the apartment fit the profile to a tee.

Spencer walked outside to call in and give an update while you finished photographing and gathering key evidence that would come in handy during the trial. When you walked back outside you see Reid standing outside the SUV, just getting off the call.

As you get closer you see that he looks off. You can already feel your heart rate pick up. Apprehending the Unsub is always the most dangerous part of the job and when the most injuries happen. JJ was running communications from the police station but you knew that Emily and Derek had paired off at the second location and Aaron and Dave had gone to the third. Your mind immediately went to Aaron and then you feel guilty for not worrying about everyone else as much - it feels selfish.

"Everything okay?" you ask, as you get close enough, your chest heavy, trying to stave off the oncoming panic whirlwind that your thoughts were propelling you towards.

Spencer turns and looks at you, you can tell he's trying to stay calm. "Hotch was shot."

*------------*

Aaron was propped up in the hospital bed, his tie still wrapped tightly around his arm to stop the bleeding. Him and Dave had gotten lucky and found the Unsub, but not before he'd gotten a few rounds off. Aaron had been just a millisecond too slow to duck in time and a bullet had managed to enter his arm. He wasn't dying by any means, but it still hurt.

Dave had apprehended the Unsub and called Morgan and Prentiss as they'd been closest, to come do pick up. Then Dave had helped him into the car and sped off towards the hospital where they both now sat. JJ was manning the headquarters and he knew that Morgan and Prentiss could handle the interrogation on their own, so he wasn't too worried.

He had just started to wonder if anyone had informed you and Reid yet as he hadn't heard from either you, when you came bursting through the door. He wasn't sure what he'd expected exactly of you in that moment - it was the first time either one of you had been injured in the field since the beginning of the relationship and he knew that changed things.

You swiftly walked in, not sparing a look at Dave, focused solely on him. Reid had apparently jogged to keep up with you as he looked out of breath as he entered a moment later. He could feel your gaze skimming over him and checking to see the damage. The fact that he was sitting up and conscious had to be of some comfort, he hoped.

"Are you okay?" you finally asked, as you reached the edge of the bed. There was a very forced calm air about you. He sees you pick up the chart the nurse had just updated, before moving on to set up an I.V. for him.

"I'm alright. They just need to get the bullet out," he tells you, trying unsuccessfully to hold in the wince of pain. He's very aware that Reid is in the room with you.

Apparently satisfied with his response, you'd now chosen to more or less ignore him. He watches as your eyes skim over the chart before they find what you'd been looking for.

"It says here that Dr. Wilson is assigned to the case. Where is Dr. Kepner?" you direct your question towards the nurse who had just finished setting up the I.V. and assured him that he'd be able to go into surgery as soon as an O.R. was available.

The nurse seems taken aback by your line of questioning, but responds by saying that Dr. Kepner is not available and Dr. Wilson is on call for trauma.

"No. Get Dr. Kepner. If you cannot manage that, then get me your Chief of Surgery." Your voice is direct and commanding and Aaron has to acknowledge that you no longer sound like the girl they interviewed a few years ago. Gone is any hint of nervousness or insecurity, replaced by a commanding tone that the nurse chooses (wisely) not to argue with as she leaves, nodding at the request.

Dave chooses to speak finally. "Y/N, I'm sure whichever doctor they got for Aaron is fine, and -"

You cut him off. "Dr. Wilson's success rate for trauma is dismal, sitting at less than 70%. Kepner is the head of their trauma department and she'll be the one doing the surgery." Your statement leaves no real room for argument and he can see Dave backing off, allowing you full control of the situation. You've already turned away again, consulting something on your phone.

At Aaron's raised eyebrow, Reid starts to speak, but is interrupted by the appearance of an older doctor at the door. He watches as you greet the man, and the two of you walk outside to talk.

"She made some phone calls," Reid starts again. "You should've seen her, it was pretty impressive." Reid shakes his head as if he's not quite sure what's going on or why you're so insistent that Hotch's surgery be done by the very best available, but he seems to accept it for friendly concern.

Aaron exchanges a look with Dave.

Half an hour later, he sees you and the man who he assumes was the Chief of Surgery outside his door again, this time accompanied by a petite redheaded doctor. The doctor comes around the corner, and takes his chart, making a quick update to it.

"Mr. Hotchner, I'm Dr. Kepner, I'll be doing your surgery today."

He sees you shaking hands with the Chief and he vaguely wonders if he's impressed or annoyed. He realizes he feels that way a lot when it comes to you.

You're standing at the door now as the nurses are prepping him for surgery and you're watching him and them intently. You haven't actually made eye contact with him again since your initial question and he can't help but notice your hands fidgeting with the hem of your FBI jacket.

*------------*

The team had waited until he was released from the hospital to fly back home. This time he makes sure that he's seated by you and asks Rossi to sit across from the two of you in the back of the airplane so that you can have some privacy from the rest of the team. He's still got some bandages around his arm and is on painkillers, but all in all he has to acknowledge that it could have been worse. It can always be worse.

You'd fallen asleep pretty quickly, having stayed at the hospital until his release. You hadn't actually spent too much time in his room afterwards, save for stopping in and checking to see if he was alright. He could see you milling around from his window - a couple of doctors had approached you to talk. He suspected that one of them - a tall blond man - had been flirting with you, based on how close to you he'd stood and how he had leaned in with a smirk on his face. He didn't think you had flirted back - you'd had a polite smile on your face that you maintained throughout but no laugh or touch.

Then you'd come back with the rest of the team when he was released, smiling at him finally and seeming lighter than you had the day before. He watched you now as you slept, entirely spent from the week long case. Looking up, at the baggage stowed away, he remembered that he had a decision to make. He looked back towards you and waited until you woke up.

When you woke up, you were still about an hour away from landing. You noted that most everyone had also knocked out and Rossi had moved from across you and Aaron to go sit near the front and play chess with Spencer. Stretching, you turn to look at Aaron, who is of course wide awake.

"Hey," he smiles softly at you and you feel the butterflies because it’s the smile he only gives you and it makes you feel like you're the only one that matters. You'd been so scared when Spencer had said he'd been shot, that as soon as you'd heard that it was minor and he was stable, your knees had almost given in. Had you not already been at the car, Spencer would've had to see you come crashing down on the sidewalk. However, as you were already at the car and apparently Aaron was mostly alright, you'd made a sharp turn into crisis management mode and had pretty much stayed in it until he left the hospital. It felt easier and safer than being the girlfriend that was scared out of her mind.

You smiled back, before taking a quick look again to make sure everyone was asleep or distracted. Rossi was the one facing you and Aaron, so even if he were to look up, it would be alright. You shifted and Aaron easily accommodated to tuck you into his side, arm slung around your shoulders.

"I owe you an answer," he says, low and soft, making sure only you can hear.

You tilt your head up slightly to look at him, nodding at him to continue.

"I will sign the trust documents," he says slowly, as though he's choosing his words carefully. "But I need you to sign something too."

You look at him, a little confused where he's going, but glad that he seems accepting at least of your attempts to make sure that Jack is taken care of. Even though you knew it wasn't his intention, part of Aaron stalling to sign felt like he was questioning your role and place in Jack's life and his. Of course he had all the right in the world to make this decision for Jack, so you'd waited hopefully. But you hadn't been able to help the bubble of anxiety that had been growing at the back of your mind ever since.

"This case - the only thing that happened is that I got shot in the arm. It could've been a lot worse." You can see his face illuminated by the dim lighting in the plane and the fear is so plainly written there.

"If something were to happen to me, I want you to take care of Jack." He looks right at you as he says this and sees your face go from initial confusion to shock and then he's not really sure because he hasn't seen this look before and he doesn't know what to make of it.

"Are you sure? Really? But Jess…" you manage to get out once the initial shock of his request is lessened but you aren't really asking because you're already nodding yes.

A part of him is surprised - pleasantly so - at the immediate and enthusiastic yes but most of him knew that there wouldn't be a doubt in your mind. He was pretty sure you loved Jack far more than you loved him. "Yes, of course, sweetheart." His hand finds yours and squeezes. "If something happens to me, I know you're the person that will be best for him." He looks up and catches Dave's eye, who only smiles a bit before returning to his game with Reid. And before he can talk himself out of it he really quickly presses the softest of kisses to your lips and he moves to move away but you're so responsive underneath him and your hand so easily comes around his waist, pulling him back in and there's a voice in his head telling him that you're on the plane and people don't know but he doesn't care really because your hand has worked its way into his hair and your mouth moves sinfully against his, your teeth nipping ever so lightly at his bottom lip, urging him to draw you in. Had he known this was the response he would've gotten, he would've signed Jack over to you ages ago.

He hears Dave clearing his throat in warning and knows you heard it too as you oh so reluctantly release him, your eyes shining and happy and he is so proud of himself for being the reason your face simply glows.


	34. Perfect

With Aaron working late, you had decided to call it an early day, pushing aside your unread case files. They could wait. You texted Aaron as you got up to leave, telling him that you were going to be picking up Jack and he could meet you both back at your place. He'd looked up from his work briefly, meeting your eyes down in the bullpen and nodded in agreement. He watched as you walked out with Prentiss, grateful that Jack would get some time with at least one of you.

After you left, he worked quickly, hoping to make it home in time for dinner. It was funny how easily he'd started to think of your place as home too. It seemed the three of you spent a lot more time at your place compared to his apartment, which made sense as it was bigger and usually the place the team would also congregate if it wasn't at Rossi's. But it was also very you and Aaron had to admit that was part of it. Every part of that house felt like you and that made him feel at home - he'd neglected to really do that for his own apartment. Jack's room had the most effort put into it, but even then he knew that Jack much preferred your place as well.

He thought to when the two of you had told Jack that you were together. His son had kind of looked back and forth between you and him and then just nodded in understanding, asking if that meant he'd get to see Y/N more. Aaron wasn't sure what he'd been expecting truly and he had turned to gauge your reaction to it, but you'd just smiled at Jack and said that of course he'd get to see you as much as possible.

And they did - see you - as much as possible. But there was a part of Aaron that felt like he was going about the whole thing backwards. The two of you had reached this level of domesticity that made him finally feel like he had someone there, in this with him - but it also made him feel at unease because he knew there were things that you two hadn't quite talked about. You talked about Jack and you talked about your future and yet every time there was an opportunity to take your relationship further physically, he felt himself balking.

You'd both pushed some limits and there had been some heavy makeout sessions on the couch after dinner or in his office after everyone had left - but between work and all the cases that kept coming up and this odd hesitancy on his part, it just hadn't quite happened yet. He could see the question in your eyes every time as he'd suddenly notice how far the two of you had gotten and how entirely willing and pliant and soft you were under his touch and he'd force himself to stop and say something along the lines of _"Oh we should wait"_ or _"Do we really want the first time to be in the office?"_ And you'd accept it but he saw the question that you didn't ask in your eyes. He didn't really have an answer beyond the feeling that it had been so long for the both of you and he wanted it to be good. No, not good. He wanted it to be perfect. Because you _deserved_ that and he had a feeling you hadn't had perfect and he didn't think perfect could happen when it was hurried and rushed and you were both worried about waking Jack or it was some hotel in Oklahoma with your coworkers in the next room.

He did in fact manage to make it home in time for dinner. He unlocked the front door to your place, letting himself in - _that was another thing, who exchanged house keys before they'd slept together?_ He could hear music coming from the kitchen, and as he walked in he sees both you and Jack with flour everywhere, belting out _Here Comes the Sun_. He feels his heart swell at the sight.

His laugh turns both yours and Jack's attention to him. "Daddy!" His son runs towards him and he catches him.

"What's going on here?" He points to Jack's little apron and the mess the two of you had made in the kitchen.

"Y/N said we can bake cookies to take to school tomorrow," Jack explains as his father sets him down on the counter.

You're still mixing the batter together, just as covered in flour as Jack. He walks over to you and places a quick kiss on your cheek, swiping at some of the flour on your face.

"You're just in time for dinner," you tell him, covering the bowl and placing it in the fridge, to be baked afterwards.

"Alright, I'm going to go change and I'll help Jack get cleaned up too," he says, going to pick Jack up from the counter where he'd gotten his hands into the flour again.

You laugh and just nod as both Aaron and Jack leave the kitchen. It had been a great afternoon for you with Jack, the two of you had first gone through the recipe book and picked out the cookies he wanted. After a quick trip to the corner shop to grab the missing items, you two had set out and made a bit of a mess, but it had been fun and wholesome and it was moments like this with him that you cherished the most.

*------------*

You were on a case involving kids again. The Unsub had so far killed two fifteen year olds - a boy and a girl - and left their mangled bodies on the porch of their homes for their parents to find. The sight of mangled fifteen year old bodies on suburban porches was enough to turn anyone's stomach. The working theory was that it was another kid - probably a wronged classmate.

"Teenage Unsubs are the worst - they pretty much all profile as sociopaths," Derek says as the team finishes the briefing on the plane.

"I mean, you remember being a teenager - all that angst and drama built up in your head. Even the slightest thing could set you off," Emily responds while getting up to get something to eat from the back of the plane.

"Not everyone was a goth with mommy issues Prentiss." Derek's smirking in that self assured way that reminds you that despite everything he's been through, boy still grew up to be a popular jock.

You have to hide your snicker as Emily throws a middle finger in Derek's direction.

"You know," Spencer speaks up from beside you on the couch, "we don't know what you were like as a teenager, Y/N. I mean Derek was a jock and Emily was a goth and JJ claims she was a sweet soccer player but let's be real we all know she was a mean girl." JJ just rolls her eyes at Spencer. This was an old argument for them. "What were you like?"

"Umm, I don't know, normal I guess?" You shrug, feeling a little put on the spot - how do you explain what you were like as a teenager to a group of profilers and not have it be torn apart?

You hear a scoff and you all turn to Hotch whom the uncharacteristic sound had come from. He usually didn't let himself get drawn into these conversations.

"I'm sorry, you have something to share with the class, Hotch?" You quirk an eyebrow at him.

He looks up at you, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and amusement. "You were not _normal_. Come on." He has the slightest of smirks on his face, alluding to how much more he knows and how much better he knows you, compared to anyone else. _Thin ice buddy._

"He's right," Emily chimes in, "We all know you were _THAT_ girl."

"Who is _THAT_ girl?" you ask, using quotation marks. They all look like they're agreeing with Hotch and Emily and you have no idea why.

"Ha! The only person who would have to ask who _THAT_ girl is, is someone who was _THAT_ girl," Derek answers, looking far too pleased with the turn of conversation.

Rossi is simply sitting there turning through the case files, watching the exchange in amusement, the way one might watch toddlers interact with one another as though they're adults.

"I believe what they're all talking about," Spencer explains, "is you were the person that everyone at school liked - but they didn't know why. You were nice but not too nice. You were polite and cordial but you didn't really have friends. Popular without even trying to be. Every guy probably wanted to date you but no one could have you. And seeing as you went to a new school every few years, you got to hold on to your whole mysterious stranger thing."

You have no idea how to react to that assessment. Spencer was a good profiler, no doubt, but this seemed rehearsed almost. And they were all agreeing with him. Like they'd all talked about it before…

You narrowed your eyes and looked only at Hotch. There was no way that was Spencer's profile - at least not his alone. "He came up with that by himself, did he?"

His smirk just gets deeper because he knows they have it - you haven't denied it.

"Do you all just sit around and talk about me? Is that it? You need _lives_." You roll your eyes, the smallest of smiles making its way onto your face before they all dissolve into fits of laughter at your expense.

*------------*

Two cases with kids back to back was a lot and its toll was obvious on everyone. You'd managed to identify the Unsub as Nathan Crest, a fifteen year old who was kidnapping classmates he had a grudge against. He'd already gone through three out of the five names on his list that Penelope had found on his blog. The fifth girl was in custody but you'd been too late and the fourth - Casey Adams - was taken that morning on his way to school.

"Garcia, have you checked any other blogs or social media he might be updating in order to track him?" Hotch is frustrated that they haven't found the Unsub yet and every second is time wasted because he dumps his victims within 24 hours.

"Sir, I'm tracking any information we have on him and if he as much as logs in, I'll know. But until he does, we don't have much."

Casey Adams' parents have been at the police station all day and JJ has been sitting with them, trying to better understand why Nathan might have a grudge against Casey specifically. Unfortunately, parents rarely think their own kids are problematic and so far they'd been unhelpful and hysterical.

The problem was, there wasn't a pattern. Every name on the list seemed random at best with no connection to Nathan, and the team hadn't been able to pin down motive at all. Nathan's parents were refusing to help the police. You'd had to draw the conclusion that these were all perceived slights by Nathan who had chosen to escalate and devolve quickly.

You were looking over the victimology again to better understand maybe where he was holding them. The first girl, Tabitha Avery had been sweet, leader of the church choir with the voice of angel apparently. Gregory Smith, the first boy, was the lead player on the soccer team, and Amy Tabot was captain of the debate team. They all had such bright and happy futures ahead of them. They were all well liked, popular but not too popular, they were all nice, good kids who didn't bully Nathan by any means. So what was the connection?

There's a small thought tingling in the corner of your brain, and so you pull out the file on Casey Adams. Casey was a seemingly good student and was lead of the school play. You also pulled out the file on the final girl, Rebecca Stump - she was safe at least. Rebecca, it appeared, was a straight A student, always on honor roll.

_Funny how they're all accomplished kids in one way or another. Sports, music, debate, theatre, and academics…_

"Um, Hotch?" You try to get his attention because you're pretty sure you have a thought and it might just be it.

He looks at you, eyebrows raised in question. "You have something?"

"I think so," you respond, showing him all of the kids' files. "They were all accomplished kids in one way or another - they were all y'know _THAT_ girl…or boy I suppose."

"You're thinking, what if Nathan wanted to excel in all of those things as well?" He's nodding along and adding on, catching up to your train of thought.

"Yeah, and if that's the case and he targeted them because they have something or are good at something that he wants to be good at - wouldn't you want to hurt them in the exact place where you had to face their talent?"

"School theatre."

"Yeah."

He's already calling it in as you gear up to head out.

By the time you get to the school, SWAT has the entire theatre building surrounded and the school campus was long cleared off. Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ are entering through the front of the theatre while Rossi and Spencer take the side entrances, leaving the back entrance that leads to the stage, for you and Hotch.

As you slowly and silently inch your way in, you can see Casey Adams tied up to a chair, at the edge of the stage. You and Hotch make eye contact and he indicates to you to go from the right side of the stage and he'll go from the left. Morgan has already confronted Nathan and they're talking, with Morgan trying to talk him down from hurting Casey.

You can see that Nathan has a gun, but also a knife stashed in the back of his pants. He's waving the gun at Casey.

"Nathan," you hear Hotch try to engage him now. "You won't get anything by hurting Casey, but you do risk losing everything. Let us help you."

"You won't help me! All you'll do is ignore me and throw me away because I'm not good enough or smart enough or talented enough for them!"

He's devolved quite a bit and you feel your stomach sinking as he's not backing down.

He goes to press the trigger of the gun now pointed at Casey's head and you hear two gunshots. You see that Casey had made a valiant jump forward off the edge of the stage and just barely missed being shot. Derek's bullet was now embedded in Nathan's skull.

*------------*

The plane ride back had been muted. Both Derek and Hotch were blaming themselves for not being able to connect with Nathan fast enough to talk him down and prevent his death. You knew that Aaron would feel the guilt and the weight of the death of a kid - even if he had been the Unsub. He wouldn't focus on the fact that the other child survived - that'd be far too easy for Aaron Hotchner.

You'd all landed late at night and Jack was still with Jess. Aaron had followed you back to your place at your urging, knowing that him being alone right now would be worse.

You waited at the doorstep, for him to park, and let the two of you in. Wordlessly, he moved to the kitchen - a drink was very much needed. He reached your liquor cabinet and pulled out the scotch that was kept there for him and Dave along with two glasses. You'd taken off your shoes in the foyer and joined him, hoisting yourself onto the island, your legs dangling in front. He was pouring out the liquor for the both of you and turned to hand you a glass, before leaning against the opposite counter.

You didn't know how to help him, comfort him. He looked so exhausted and so done and while you'd tried to talk to him on the plane, you knew it had fallen flat. He wasn't going to just snap out of it because of a few words. So instead you sipped at the scotch he'd handed you, wincing at the burn of it going down your throat and leaving behind a heat in your chest.

He was drinking silently, contemplatively, his brow furrowed and his shoulders hunched. He'd dropped his jacket on the couch on the way in and the sleeves of his shirt were folded up to the elbows, his tie loosened around his neck and the collar button undone. Only the dim lights running underneath the cabinets were on and the shadows cast on his face made him so much more picturesque - _like an old time Hollywood star_ , you think fondly.

"We should fuck." Your blunt words cut through the silence, prompting him to look up in surprise, unsure if he'd heard you correctly.

"Excuse me?" No, there was no way that's what you'd just said - he was hearing things. He watches as you slowly place your glass on the counter, a fair distance from where you're actually seated. Your body is tense and the look on your face suggests that even you were surprised by what you'd said. But your eyes - brazen and fiery - betrayed only by the slight tremor he caught as you moved your hand back towards you, your eyes told him that you knew exactly what you were saying.

"You heard me." You take a deep breath as his eyes are still on you and he's put his glass down on the counter behind him. "We should fuck." You can feel your heart beating fiercely in your chest - in fear of rejection or anticipation - you're not sure which.

Aaron's moving to come closer to you and you part your legs, allowing him to stand between them. He's not really doing much besides watching you curiously, so you reach out and wrap your hands around his shoulders and meet his eyes. He seems conflicted as he asks you, is voice soft and uncertain, "Is this because of the case?"

You swallow before pulling him closer, placing a light kiss to the edge of his face, close to his ear. The shiver that runs through him is entirely involuntary. "A little," you admit, your voice low and your breath warm against his ear. "But also because I really want to." You place a small kiss at the top of his ear. "And because I think you do too." The lightest brush of your lips touches his jaw. "And no matter what it will never be exactly perfect." Another kiss gently placed on his cheek. Your fingers are intertwined around his neck now. You tilt back so you can see his face properly. He looks dazed and his breathing is harsher. His hands have found their way around your waist, slowly caressing back and forth. "And because we should really _really fuck_."

His lips crash into yours almost immediately and he can feel you smile into the kiss before he invades your mouth. Your legs cross together behind him, and you pull yourself flush against him so there's no mistaking exactly where you want this to go. You break away from his mouth and move your attention to his jaw and neck, your hands fumbling with the buttons on his shirt in the quest to feel skin.

You manage to undo his tie and toss it aside, before he grunts out, "We're not doing this in the kitchen." Cupping your ass and picking you up, your legs still wound around him, he easily makes the trek up to your bedroom. By the time he arrives at your door, his shirt has been entirely unbuttoned and pulled out from his pants and your lips have scorched every inch of reachable, visible skin.

His hand fumbles with the light switch by the door, and as you pause your exploration to look at him in question, he explains, "I wanna see you." His voice is strangled and yet still firm and you find yourself nodding in understanding as he manages to get the lights on and carry you towards the bed. He puts you down to finish taking his shirt off and watches as you shimmy out of your own pants and top while you wait for him, leaving you in only your bra and underwear.

You could feel yourself growing warmer as you watched Aaron undo his belt and take his pants off, from your spot on the bed. His eyes had been trained on you the entire time as you'd shed your clothing and his gaze over your body caused a shudder to run through you. There was a part of you that had expected him to put this off again and the fact that it was happening at all - finally - felt like a miracle. You'd wanted him to feel comfortable and ready whenever the two of you did become intimate but you wouldn't lie and say you'd enjoyed the wait. You might be a prude with other men, but with Aaron you'd felt ready for so long that it had been really hard to have the tables turned and have him be the one stalling.

You tried to commit this image of him to memory, standing in your room, breathing hard, hair rumpled from your hands running through it.

Having gotten down to his boxers, he leaned down to kiss you again, gently pushing you further along the bed, towards the headboard. His hands exploring the new skin that was exposed, and the feel of him touching you after so long was nothing short of exquisite. His hand reached around to the back of your bra, pausing until you nodded, before he deftly undid the hooks, allowing it to fall forward and off.

His eyes went to your breasts immediately and he notices some writing on your skin to the side that the bra had covered - date in elegant black script. You saw the question in his eyes. "Julian's birthday," you explain, your voice low and hesitant. He nods in understanding before pressing his lips to it. No one had ever been this gentle with you.

Aaron is determined to paint your skin with his lips, ghosting over the swell of your breasts, down your stomach, until his mouth reaches the top of your underwear. He looks up at you, meet your shining, anticipating eyes, before quickly ridding you of your underwear as well. The first touch of his mouth to your heat has a moan escaping your lips. With one hand on your stomach to hold you down, he licks up your slit, drawing another moan from you. Your hands are scrambling for something to grab onto and he helps you find his, fingers intertwined with yours, while continuing to lick and nip gently at your clit.

You are so wet and everything is so warm and _of course he'd be good at this_. The only grounding force are his hands in yours because otherwise you've been gone since the second he went down on you. You can feel the knot growing tighter and tighter in your stomach, your breaths hard and shallow, and your toes curling. Your hips buck into his face as you feel your orgasm wash over you, his name expelled from you. He helps you ride through it, stopping only when your trembles end and your legs go limp.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, moving up to meet your mouth again and kissing you languidly, as you taste yourself on him. He truly believes it - flush with color, hair mussed, a thin layer of sheen over your body, and the slightest of lazy smiles gracing your mouth - you've never looked better to him.

You reach for the top of his boxers, eager to see all of him and return the favor, but your hands are too clumsy and he has to help, shedding them himself. You feel your eyes widen at the sight of him. You'd suspected of course that he would be big, but _wow_. Before he can stop you, you've leaned down and kissed the tip, licking up the precome gathered there and the reaction is instantaneous.

"Fuck." His voice is guttural and the sound is like lightning through you.

You find yourself grinning dazedly up at him. Aaron Hotchner does not swear. Not usually at least.

The sight of you bent down in front of him, your mouth on his cock is likely enough to finish him. He has no intention of that however. He manhandles you to lay back against the pillows and climbs over you, his mouth meeting yours once again. You bring your hands back to his shoulders as he pulls away from your mouth to line himself up with your slit. He meets your eyes, before kissing you again and pushing in. The way you grasp him, wet and warm and tight, has him groaning out loud.

When he meets your eyes again there's only one word in his mind - _Mine_. He's not sure where this incredibly possessive thought came from but it has him pulling back out and then in again with a staggering force.

Your mouth is right near his ear, lips just at his ear and this moan is meant just for him. " _Yours._ "

_Had he said it out loud?_ He had. He had if your lust blown eyes are anything to go off of.

_FUCK._

His hands find your breasts, tweaking the nipple into a hardened bud, and _it's all so much_ and you're not ready to come again so soon. He can feel you pushing up at him.

He pushes in again, before flipping you over, still sheathed inside. He's deeper but you have more control now. You meet his mouth and swallow his groans as you rotate your hips on top of him, using his shoulders as leverage to move yourself up and down. It's all moans and hard breathing and he's never looked this vulnerable, letting you take control like this. His warm brown eyes are so so dark and his hands are skimming down you, finding your arms and then your hands, off of his shoulders, intertwining your fingers again and helping you move.

"You're close, sweetheart." It's not a question, he can tell as your hips have lost their rhythm.

You can't respond, so you only nod as his hips take control, thrusting up into you and his thumb finds your clit. Once, twice. And you can feel yourself falling and falling. Its hard to breathe and you come with a silent scream, shuddering through the hardest orgasm you've ever experienced.

You're pretty sure you blacked out for a moment, because when you come to, he's maneuvered you to your hands and knees and he's behind you and all around you and when you look up you can see the two of you reflected in the mirror in the corner and his hips are slamming into you towards the finish line. _I wonder how many times he's thought about that._ You watch, mesmerized by the sight, as he lifts you with an arm wrapped around your breasts, his chest flush against your back, his other hand finding your clit and his lips on your neck, leaving a trail of wet open mouthed kisses.

"Come on sweetheart, one more, come with me." You can feel his hips stuttering as he quickly and efficiently gets you to your third orgasm. You turn your head to meet his lips as he spills into you, swallowing his groans as he pushes you off the edge with him.

He slowly slips out of you and that incredibly full feeling leaves you. The two of you fall back towards the bed, him dragging you with him, on top.

The two of you lay like that for seconds, minutes, it could've been hours really, your mind is too hazy to remember.

"You were wrong." His hands are trailing through your hair gently and his voice is soft and almost sleepy.

You look at him with half-lidded eyes, from your place half on top of him. "About?"

"It was perfect."

The smile on his face, was everything.


	35. The Fifth

It's the middle of the night after a long case away involving a family annihilator, after which you and Aaron had picked up Jack and more or less collapsed into bed from sheer exhaustion. You're woken up suddenly and for a second you're not sure why until you feel Aaron shift erratically behind you. You turn slowly towards him to see his face contorted and a thin layer of sweat covering his brow. He's having a nightmare, and knowing everything he's been through, you can only imagine what it's about.

Reaching out slowly, so as to not startle him, you softly shake him. "Aaron, honey, wake up." It takes a bit more shaking to really get him out of his sleep. He wakes with a start and a shout and you worry he'll wake Jack. "Shh, it's okay, you're okay." Your hands are running over his chest and face, trying to help him calm down.

Aaron had been having the Foyet dream again. The dream where he's driving and driving and he hears Haley and he hears Jack, except now it's not just them, it's also you. He's driving and the car isn't moving fast enough and he hears that first gunshot that hits Haley. He hears yours voice - your voice asking him why he didn't make the deal, your voice telling him to hurry - and then a second gunshot.

He's shaking as he realizes that he's in bed, that you're there, and reasonably he knows that Jack is in his room down the hall. You're saying something and he's nodding but not sure what he's saying yes to. He feels cold and clammy and your hands are softly brushing back his hair as his breathing starts to become normal again. From the nightstand, you'd grabbed the glass of water and are handing it to him, your hand cupping his as he brings it up to his mouth.

"You're okay, you're alright. Everything's okay. Jack's alright. It's okay."

He nods, hearing you this time, and allows you to help him lay down, his head against your chest and your hands running over his arms and through his hair. It's helping. Reminding him. Grounding him. This is the first time he's had someone around for this nightmare. He's used to waking up alone and then getting up to check on Jack - just in case. But he has your voice in his ear, assuring him that Jack is alright.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the steady beat of your heart.

You're there.

You're there.

You're there.

*------------*

It had been a short case and it had ended relatively well all things considered - the Unsub was apprehended before he got his hands on his next victim. Sometimes you just take the wins you're handed, and so the team had flown out of Phoenix in good spirits, looking forward to a long weekend off. Rossi had already planned a barbeque at his place on Sunday and you and Aaron had plans to take Jack to the new Dinosaur exhibit at the Smithsonian on Saturday. Monday - if you all made it that far without a case - would be dedicated to introducing Jack to the Toy Story series. You'd ordered him a little Woody outfit and toy as a surprise and just received the notification that it was delivered, so it was perfect timing really.

"I'm just saying, he wasn't too far off the mark," you hear Spencer's voice as you're sitting sideways on the couch, your legs in his lap.

The latest Unsub had formed unhealthy attachments with women who he helped provide tech support to, so the conversation had turned to that again, as far as you could tell. JJ thought it was creepy how the guy had essentially used his access to the customer log to stalk his victims that fit his fantasy and the two of them had been talking it over as she was typing out her report. Her and Will had plans for tomorrow and you knew she wanted to get home early tonight so was doing her best to wrap up her work before you even landed.

You debated starting yours too as you saw that Hotch was working on some paper work as well. Emily and Derek however were sitting and chatting about something or the other and Rossi was reading a newspaper. _Who did that anymore?_ You really needed to introduce him to a kindle or something. Maybe for Christmas. Then again he's a published author. He might take offense at having the feel of a real book be replaced with technology.

You decided to join JJ and Spencer's conversation - maybe you'd learn something to add to your report that you would type soon and not wait to do until after you landed. _Of course not_.

"What're you guys talking about, Spence?"

"I'm just trying to explain to JJ, that while the Unsub might have gone about it in an unorthodox manner," you hear JJ scoff at Spencer's description of the murders, "he wasn't wrong about the initial premise."

"Which is?" you prompted, trying to take mental notes at the least.

"That many people find love through work - be it a customer, client, or coworker. We spend at minimum, 40% of our waking hours at work. Add in the fact that many people tie their work to a facet of their identity, it makes sense that relationships formed in workplace settings have a high degree of success."

You nod along, taking a drink from the bottle of sparkling water you'd grabbed earlier.

"I mean, just look at you and Hotch - you two seem to be making it work."

You felt yourself choke on the water and cough, enough to get everyone's attention. No. You'd misheard. He hadn't said that. _Why was it so quiet on the plane all of a sudden?_ They're all looking at you. You and Hotch. Emily and Derek had entirely stopped talking. Rossi had put down his paper. No one was saying anything really, as if they were waiting.

You meet Aaron's eyes and see the same question reflected there. **_Do they know?_**

You're about to contradict it, really, you are. You're going to ask Spencer what he's talking about. Because you and Hotch are not together - no sir. He must be mistaken. He must have you confused with someone else.

That option is taken from you, however, when Aaron straightens, putting down his pen, and asks Spencer, "How long have you known?"

It's JJ who answers however. "We didn't actually. Not for sure at least. Thanks for the confirmation." There's a smirk on her face and a knowing glint in her eye. You look around and see that they're all wearing pretty much identical smirks.

You can feel the incredulity building in your head. You'd been had. Actually no. You had not. Aaron had. You were all set to deny deny deny. He had to open his big mouth and ask a self-incriminating question. _I should pull up the Virginia Bar records and check if he's still licensed because he's really losing his touch._

Aaron had the good grace to look a little ashamed at having been tricked so easily.

You're supposed to say something, but this isn't how you'd planned on telling everyone that you were sleeping with the boss. Well not _just_ sleeping with, but still! There had been a plan. A carefully orchestrated plan involving dinner and copious amounts of expensive alcohol so that no one could be upset at having been lied to. It was very hard for people to be upset with you after you've fed them. Especially if you made your tiramisu. The tiramisu had been part of the plan!

You can feel your face heating up the longer the silence goes on. Realistically it's only a few seconds at most while both you and Aaron process that everyone knows now. But it feels like a very long stretch of quiet in which they're all just looking at you as if they expect you to start making out with one another any minute now.

"How'd you figure it out?" you finally ask, hoping that question would urge Spencer to talk and distract everyone from _staring_ at you. You sneak a peak at Emily. She doesn't look mad or upset really. That's good.

"Well, I've suspected since Hotch got shot," Spencer explains. "I was pretty sure you made a large donation to the surgery department to get Dr. Kepner instead of Dr. Wilson, which didn't really make sense as something someone would do for a friend or a coworker. Though sometimes I do tend to misread those types of situations so I asked JJ and she agreed with my interpretation that it was unlikely you'd make a large donation for just anyone like that."

You look at Aaron and see him color just slightly. The two of you had had a bit of an argument about you throwing your money around to get your way, but you'd reminded him that his bullet wound had healed remarkably and there was barely a scar at all. Plus, it was your money and you could use it however you wanted and then you'd said something about how scared you'd been and how you didn't know how else to help and could he please just not be mad at you for doing something that was good for him. You weren't sure if it was what you said or the fact that you were sat in his lap pouting and upset when you'd done it, that had made him finally relent.

You still refused to tell him exactly how much you'd donated.

"We won't hold that against you, though," JJ says kindly. You can see the humor dancing in her eyes.

If the jet were to suddenly rip a hole and pull you clean through, you wouldn't be all too upset about it.

"You also said no to a date with Charlie," Derek adds. Detective Charles Bass was a friend of Derek's from the Chicago PD whom you'd met on the case prior. "You and I both know he's your type, princess." Derek has a teasing smile on his face that helps you calm down a little bit.

You rolled your eyes but didn't refute his claim. He wasn't wrong. Detective Bass was incredibly good looking and charming and exactly your type if you weren't already completely head over heels for a certain unit chief. Aaron had laughed when you told him and then proceeded to remind you exactly why you said no to dates with other men. You two were lucky no one had heard you with how thin hotel room walls could be. Though now you have to wonder if they had indeed heard you but were adding it to the pile of evidence they'd been collecting.

"And then," Emily decides to finally contribute, prompting you to really look at her, "when I was taking the lunch order, and Hotch was busy, you knew his sandwich order exactly. When I handed it to him he asked how I knew that he didn't like mayonnaise on his roast beef sandwiches. I didn't know that. But you sure did." Emily has a smug look on her face and there's a promise in her eyes that the two of you will be discussing this later. In detail.

You're just sitting there now, shaking your head. It was embarrassing to have your profiler coworkers point out things that you really should've known to be more careful about. You're sure Aaron feels similarly awkward because he's just silently looking at each person as they speak, a flush coloring his face and neck.

Rossi looks like the cat that ate the canary, however he is conspicuously quiet. You have to wonder how long he's known that the others suspect you and Hotch were together. However none of them seem upset really or even surprised so that has to be of some solace to Aaron. He'd had the ridiculous notion that Derek and Emily would think he was taking advantage of you or some nonsense. As if anyone could possibly think that of him.

"And finally, there was the case in LA a few weeks back when we got called in late and both you and Hotch arrived around the same time. Which in and of itself wouldn't be too odd, but you were wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with off the shoulder sleeves and Hotch was also dressed up and wearing a tie that matched your dress exactly. Hotch doesn't have green ties." Spencer relays all of this as though it's all oh so obvious and you really want to call him a weirdo for knowing what ties Hotch does and doesn't have - but he's right. You'd bought him that green tie because it was your favorite color and he'd matched your dress when the two of you had gone out to dinner on a rare night off. "Plus, the two of you often tend to match. Is that on purpose or subconscious - I've been wanting to ask."

You look down at your red blouse and then across to Aaron's red tie. Well, if any of them hadn't believed it before, they sure did now.

You might as well have been caught red-handed.

*------------*

Sunday was a nice and sunny day. You and Aaron had arrived at Rossi's together with Jack. In the same car. That was a definite perk of everyone knowing - the two of you had been growing tired of always bringing two cars to and from places and trying your best to arrive a few minutes after the other.

Jack had immediately found Henry and the two of them were playing in the shallow end of the pool with Aaron and Will keeping watch nearby, while Rossi and Reid manned the grill. Well Rossi was doing the grilling. Spencer was spouting facts about the origins of barbeque which Aaron had long since tuned out from.

He looks over as you lay in a deck chair near the girls and Derek. Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia had all opted for bikinis and were working on their tans. You'd taken off your coverup and were wearing a wine colored one piece swimsuit underneath, your hair tied up in a high ponytail reminiscent of some pop star whose name he could never remember. Last week, he had come home to you and Jack singing along to her teeny bopper tunes and when he'd complained you'd told him that music didn't stop with the Beatles and it was good to have balance. He'd had the song stuck in his head for days.

All in all the team had taken the two of you dating relatively well. They'd all said they were happy for the two of you and no one seemed too upset at having been kept in the dark about it. He supposed he was grateful given the group's history with secrets. He was also pretty sure he'd seen some money exchange hands afterwards, however had decided to not bring that up with you - he had a feeling you wouldn't be thrilled to know your coworkers were betting on your personal life.

On the other side of the pool, you were getting settled in and enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin. Emily's lying next to you on her stomach after you'd finished lathering her back with sunscreen.

"Derek, where's Savannah?" JJ asks, taking a sip from the giant margarita glass that Rossi had handed each of you as you entered. She's sitting up in her chair, sunglasses perched on her head and an eye on Henry the entire time.

"She's on call, but she says hello," Derek answers. You know it's been rough on them trying to see each other despite both of their busy schedules. That's one thing you're grateful for with you and Aaron working on the same team - you get to see him at home and at work. Though, you suppose you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. McKinney has been hinting at getting you working - part time at least - with some local task force groups to increase your exposure. You'd end up splitting your time between that and the BAU.

"Alright, let's talk about what we all really want to know more about!" Penelope turns to you, her face a mixture of curiosity and childlike glee. Heat and alcohol were not a good mix. "Y/N, tell us more about you and Hotch!"

You'd been dreading this. You'd told Aaron as much when the two of you were getting ready that morning and at this moment you resented him for being on the other side of the pool with Will. Will who wasn't nosey and minded his own business.

Sighing, you prop yourself up to take a sip of your own drink. "What do you guys want to know?"

"How long have you been together? Officially."

"A few months - since the career day conversation."

" _That_ long?!" JJ's eyes widen in surprise.

"Didn't you hide Will from us for almost half a year?" Derek raises an eyebrow at her hypocrisy however she doesn't seem perturbed.

"Yes, but that was different. Hotch and Y/N are both around us practically 24/7. I'm surprised they managed to hide it that long."

You laugh. "Well we obviously weren't that good at the hiding if you guys figured it out."

"Don't sell yourself short, princess. If pretty boy hadn't told us all about the hospital thing we wouldn't have given it too much thought."

"He's right," Emily agrees. "You and Hotch being together isn't like a surprise, but it is also."

"What do you mean?" You're intrigued by that because that's something that's bothered you since you declared your relationship to Strauss. She hadn't been surprised and she'd said no one else would be either. You hadn't really taken her word for it.

"I mean, you guys were basically a couple already - all the stuff you did with Jack, always partnering up together, not to mention the fact that Hotch has been in love with you forever."

You roll your eyes. Everyone's said that - Emily, Rossi, even Aaron when he told you that he'd loved you for years. You couldn't help but be a bit skeptical. _Years? Really?_ Deep down you knew the reason why you're bothered - it's because you can imagine how painful that must've been for him if it was true - you'd flirted with other men, you'd dated, and then there had been the time when you two were barely speaking. While that had been awful for you as well, you couldn't imagine how much worse it was for him _knowing_ he was in love with you and you two were barely talking.

"But also it was a small surprise," JJ continues, drawing your attention back. "Like, none of us thought Hotch was your type - at least based on the other guys we've seen you date. We honestly thought about setting him up a few times just to help him get over it and move on."

That was news to you. No one had ever mentioned wanting to set Hotch up with anyone to you. "Why didn't you?"

You see JJ and Emily exchange a look. Emily's the one who answers, though she seems hesitant. "Well, we did. Once. We set him up on a blind date with my friend Sarah. Apparently all he did was talk about the team and Jack…and you."

You raised your eyebrows at that and looked over at Aaron, throwing Jack into the water. "He talked about me?"

"According to Sarah, it seemed like he was hung up on some girl named Y/N," JJ teases, "and she was pretty upset that we wasted her time."

You can't help the pleased smile or the slight color that comes to your face. You wanted to ask why none of them had told you, but you knew the answer. They wouldn't betray Aaron like that.

"So," and you can tell this is Emily's way of changing the subject back to what she really wants to talk about. "How's the sex?" Her mouth is twisted into a smirk, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Derek takes that as his cue to excuse himself from the girl talk and walks over to join Rossi at the grill. As if you'd talk about that with him there anyways.

You shake your head. "Emily he's your boss."

"He's your boss too, and you're sleeping with him. I just wanna know what it's like."

JJ and Penelope are also looking at you expectantly. You bite your lip, and with a sigh you admit, "It's the best sex of my life."

Their loud ooohs and teasing squeals catch the guys' attention and you meet Aaron's gaze as he's walking over.

Aaron can sense the girls' eyes on him as he walks over to you to grab the keys to the car. Jack wanted to grab the waterguns to play with.

"Hey, the keys still in your bag?"

You nod as he grabs the bag from the other side of your chair and looks for the car keys. You'd all become far too quiet the second he'd approached. Emily was stifling a dirty smirk very very poorly and both JJ and Penelope were still giggling behind their drinks.

"Were you talking about me?" he asks, a small smirk on his face as he fishes out the keys.

"Yes," Emily replies, flipping her sunglasses up to meet his eyes. "Now go away so we can continue."

Aaron chuckles and shakes his head. He's about to walk away, but as he passes the back of your chair, you suddenly feel a light tug at your ponytail, and before you can react he's pulled your head back and captured your lips in a sweet kiss that takes your breath away. Letting go, he throws a wink at your shocked face before strolling away.

You take a second before you look back at the girls and you're met with three identical faces of outright surprise.

Emily recovers first, fanning herself with her hand. "Has Hotch always been this hot?"

The four of you can't help but laugh again.

_Yes he has._

*------------*

You'd changed out of your swimsuit and into a dress after playing waterguns with Jack and Henry in the afternoon. The food and drinks had flowed throughout the day, and everyone had moved into Rossi's large living room as the sun set. It was pretty much assumed that no one was in a state to drive back home that night.

Jack had eventually tuckered himself out and fallen asleep in your lap before Aaron picked him up and took him to the guest bedroom to lay him down next to Henry. You were feeling a little sleepy yourself, tucked into Emily's side on the large couch, lazily holding a glass of wine, and trying to follow the conversation.

"So, he just said you weren't good? Like, straight up?" JJ looks appalled that anyone could be so rude to someone's face.

"Yeah, can you believe it? I had an off day and still went down on him and he comes at me with that," Emily replies, the rage clear on her face. Her latest paramour had been less than appreciative of her skills and she had been filling you all in on the aftermath.

"You did dump him, didn't you sugar?" Penelope was equally worked up, her nostrils flaring.

"Of course," Emily assures her, "And then," she continues a bit hesitantly, "I did something…else."

That definitely caught your attention. "Oh God…what'd you do Em?"

"Well, I may have gone through my contacts and obtained more personal feedback." She's not looking at you and instead speaking into her wine glass. You're pretty sure it's her third and that was after margaritas all afternoon.

You blink as you process what she had said. However, Penelope beats you to it. "You called up your exes and ASKED?!"

"How else am I supposed to know? I was feeling insecure and I needed to know if he was right. There isn't exactly a Yelp to rate blowjob skills."

You groaned. Of course she had.

"Emily, you can't just call people and ask them that." You couldn't believe she'd done that. You could not even _fathom_.

"Why not? I feel better and I know he was wrong."

You just shook your head, smiling in spite of yourself. _Suppose you do have to admire the confidence._

_"_ Maybe I should do that," Penelope says, twirling her phone in her hands.

"Alright, you're cut off." You grabbed her glass from her hand and moved it to the table. "We can't all just go around asking men to _rate_ us." This was an entirely alcohol fueled conversation at this point.

JJ agreed with you, making a grab for Emily's glass as well, which she dodged. _Damn those undercover agent reflexes._

"I don't know Y/N," Emily teased, "you always like being the best. Wouldn't it be nice to know for sure."

You narrowed your eyes at her.

Before you could say anything else, however, she'd already called out. "Hotch!"

You watch Aaron turn from his conversation with Reid, beer bottle in hand. He looked a little flushed from the day drinking, his hair flopping adorably to his forehead. "Yes?"

"Does Y/N give good head?"

You feel your jaw drop and your eyes widen in horror. You're already shaking your head at Aaron. You're waiting for him to say that it wasn't appropriate. Waiting for him to ignore it and roll his eyes and turn away. Instead he looks at you and the look in his eyes tells you exactly what he's thinking about. You can feel yourself heat up under his gaze.

Aaron, in his defense, was a few beers in and his guard had been down. He'd spent the entire day watching you in your bathing suit and when Prentiss - blatantly - asked him if you gave good head, his mind went immediately to a few weeks back.

_A few weeks back when you'd woken up before him - which you rarely did. He had woken to the feeling of little kitten licks on the tip of his cock and the sight of you knelt between his legs. He'd shifted, alerting you to the fact that he was awake, and you'd looked up at him with the cutest smile._

_"Good morning." He'd raised an eyebrow, at your position._

_You'd hummed in response, taking him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, and released him with a kiss on the tip._

_His eyes darkened as he shifted to sit against the headboard and watched you move with him._

_"What do I owe this wakeup call to?"_

_You'd appraised him, still knelt between his legs, as if debating exactly what to say. He knew you weren't incredibly experienced in this particular area and he'd been more than happy to forego it altogether in your time together thus far. You bit your lip, and spoke slowly. "You know that I haven't done this much."_

_He nods, watching you fidget with your hands._

_"Will you teach me?"_

_He felt a jolt of need that went straight to his cock. He was about to imprint this image of you to his mind forever - kneeling between his legs, doe eyes looking up at him from under your lashes, mouth pouty and lips glossy from his precome coating them. This would be the image that he would forever bring to the forefront anytime he was unfortunate enough to spend a night without you._

_He lets out a shaky breath before nodding yes._

_You were an incredibly fast learner._

You watch as Aaron tips the head of the beer bottle to his mouth and takes another drag, before lowering it. He looks right at you when he finally speaks, deliberately slow. "I have no complaints."

You let out a breath of disbelief and the girls started laughing around you as he turned back around to his conversation amongst jostling from Derek and Rossi. _Cocky little…_

When you walked to the kitchen to grab some water, you could feel his eyes on you and you're not surprised when he joins you a moment later, arms circling your waist from behind.

"Hi." His breath is warm against your neck and you can tell he's just this side of drunk because he's very loosely holding himself to you.

You simply hummed as he pressed his lips to your neck. He had been very touchy today and to be honest, you hadn't expected this level of PDA from Aaron. You'd expected him to be much more reserved, though that's likely exactly what would happen once everyone was back at work.

"Was that the right answer?" He mumbles into your skin, leaving open mouth kisses along your neck.

You smile, rolling your eyes. "The right answer was _I plead the fifth._ I thought you were a lawyer."

His chest rumbles with laughter behind you and you can hear the teasing smile in his voice. "Well, your honor, I think I'm a few beers in and allowed to appreciate my girlfriend's skills. Any chance I could talk you into another demonstration?" _Oh he was really pushing his luck._

You bite your lip to prevent the grin that's threatening to break out. "I thought you were drunk."

You try to turn to face him but he pushes you into the counter, grinding against you. "Not that drunk."

He moves his hand to cup your jaw, turning your face towards him, and capturing your lips in a wet, dirty kiss that leaves you moaning and grinding back into him.

You're grateful the kitchen is hidden from view of the living room and no one has walked in on you both yet.

"Aaron, we can't have sex in Rossi's house," you whisper urgently when he gives you a moment to breathe.

"You're kidding, right? He told me where the condoms are."

You scoff. _As if the two of you even used condoms._

But he's looking at you earnestly and you chance another look in the direction of the living room. It sounded like everyone was talking and distracted. They probably wouldn't miss you.

He can see the wheels turning in your head, and he smiles triumphantly as he sees the acceptance in your eyes.

"You're a bad influence Agent Hotchner," you say as his lips meet yours again and the two of you start making your way down the hallway to the back of the house.


	36. Home

The wind was blowing harshly against the house, causing quite the ruckus as Aaron got ready for work in the morning. Jack was already dressed and downstairs and the two of you were waiting on him to finish getting ready. He'd taken a call that morning, resulting in him running behind.

As he grabbed a tie from the closet, he took note of the fact that pretty much his entire wardrobe had managed its way into the other half of your closet. Despite having His and Hers closet space built into your home, you'd never expanded past one side, which had left the entire other half for him. It had been at least a couple of months since he'd been to his own apartment. His lease was ending next month and it was something he figured he should discuss with you soon, seeing as both him and Jack were practically moved in. He'd begun to accept that your relationship wouldn't be moving at anything remotely resembling a normal pace. How could it when Jack had had a room in your house for years, photos of him with Haley, his aunt and cousins, Aaron, and you occupying an entire wall.

The first time Jack had dragged Aaron upstairs in your house to _his_ room, Aaron hadn't been sure how to feel. It was a while ago now, soon after Haley's death. Aaron and Jack had been spending more time at your place, his apartment a cold reminder of what they'd lost. But you'd been in the kitchen and Aaron had arrived for dinner with Jack, when his son had insisted on getting the toys from _his_ room. In the past, the toys had sat in a chest in the foyer, so this was new. The room was like something out of a Pottery Barn catalog, no expense spared. But what had caught his attention was the single photo of Jack and Haley on the wall closest to the bed. Over time that wall had grown, but that first picture had remained in the center. That had been the day Aaron had known with absolute certainty - you loved Jack. You always would.

When he got downstairs, you were bundling Jack into his coat. Upon seeing him, you smiled and indicated to his breakfast. He walked around and noticed your navy blue top and smugly pointed to his tie. It had become somewhat of a game for the two of you. If you got ready without him seeing you and he still managed to pick the right tie color, he felt like he'd won. He was good at winning.

"Jack, remember, Mrs. Avery will pick you up after school," you reminded him. You and Aaron had made the decision to get Jack a nanny so he'd have more personal attention from an adult. Mrs. Avery was an older lady with many references and previous experience with children of diplomats. She was used to a high stress life and demanding parents, and she was absolutely wonderful with Jack.

"Can we go to the park after school?" Jack asks, finishing off by pulling a beanie over his head to protect from the chill.

"We're going to leave that up to Mrs. Avery," Aaron says, jokingly pointing at Jack with his fork. "You'll have to go through her - she's not easy to pull a fast one on."

Jack laughed and gave his father a lighthearted roll of his eyes. Mrs. Avery was putty in his hands as long as he finished his homework and asked politely.

"Alright, Jack you're with me this morning. Y/N has to go in to work early," Aaron tells him, getting up to put his plate in the dishwasher.

You had an early meeting with McKinney, after which the team was sure to be pulled into a case if Aaron's morning call was anything to go off of.

You kneel down to hug Jack. "Have a good day baby, I love you."

"I love you too, Y/N." Jack places a small kiss to your cheek before going to grab his backpack.

"I love you too, Y/N," Aaron teases, as you kiss him goodbye, hurrying out the door.

The eyerolls were definitely something Jack got from you.

*------------*

Director McKinney felt you were ready to take on a challenge and he had laid out a couple of different assignments for you to look over and give a perspective on. You'd walked out of his office with three large files tucked under your arm and met up with everyone else in the parking garage. Penelope had already texted you that there would indeed be a case, and as you got into the back with JJ, Aaron handed you the shoes you'd forgotten at home, from the front. You thanked him, grateful to be out of the heels you'd worn for your morning meeting. Heels were great for feeling tall in the office but impractical for chasing after Unsubs. You saw JJ take note of your exchange with Aaron and she made a teasing kissy face at you.

The others briefed you on the case on the way to the plane to Charleston. Three women had all gone missing under odd circumstances and yesterday the first one's body had been surfaced in a lake by some fishermen. It was suspected that there was a serial killer and the time between disappearances was shortening fast.

You theorized on the profile with the rest of the team on the plane before everyone turned to do their own thing for the remainder of the flight. You sat next to Aaron, flipping through the case files McKinney had given you. They were all interesting in their own right and you realized he was using them to gauge where your interests lied. The cases were all pretty different - the one based out of DC, tracking internal threats posed by large lobby groups and their connections to foreign governments caught your interest.

Aaron watched as you shifted to pull your hair away from your face. You'd been working a lot more and hadn't shirked in your duties to the BAU while taking on all the extra work McKinney was asking of you. He knew a time would come soon when he wouldn't have you on the team any longer - not the way you were going. McKinney had sent him a note regarding having you split your time between the BAU and other groups.

He had some things he wanted to talk to you about, but was holding it back for later that night when you two would be alone. While the team now knew about your relationship, at your core you were both relatively private people and tried to not mix work with your relationship. You shifted, bringing the file closer to your face, and caught him looking at you. You briefly smiled at him before returning to the file, resting the hand closest to him casually on his thigh. Aaron smiled at the gesture, covering your hand with his own, before turning back towards his own files.

*------------*

The team had spent the day following up on leads while Hotch had coordinated with local officials in the Charleston PD. The local detectives seemed to react better to a softer touch, so JJ had stuck around with him and Reid while the rest of you went to go interview the missing women's friends and family.

"How're things with Savannah?" you ask Derek as the two of you drive over to interview the best friend. He'd seemed tense all week and you had a feeling something was off.

"Haven't seen her in three weeks," Derek replies, turning a sharp left. At your raised eyebrow, he sighs and continues, "I don't know, it's hard you know. She's on call and any time we make plans the team catches a case. We were supposed to go away this weekend and here we are on a new case on a Thursday. What do you think the odds are that we're home in time?"

You sighed sympathetically. He wasn't wrong - work cut into a lot of things with everyone's relationships and family. Jack had a class presentation tomorrow which neither you nor Aaron would make it to. Mrs. Avery had promised to send a video.

"Make small plans, Derek. It's hard to be there for the big stuff all the time. But you can be there for the little ones. Bring her coffee in the morning or be sure to catch her after her shift for dinner. It's too hard if you're always chasing the weekend getaways." You and Aaron had been trying to plan a trip away with Jack for weeks now and it hadn't materialized. You made do with cuddling him on weekend mornings and lazing on the couch with a movie.

Derek looks at you for a beat before nodding, and drawing the car to a stop in front of the house.

Later that evening, Hotch had called it a night for the team finally around nine and everyone had gone to the hotel to sleep. He had just gotten out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. You'd already gotten ready for bed and were propped up against the headboard, McKinney's case files in your lap.

Aaron started to dig through his bag for his pajamas, remembering that he still had to talk to you about some stuff and didn't want to forget it again. "Hey, listen," he says, grabbing his clothes and the face moisturizer that you'd insisted he start using _(Good skincare is not a joking matter, Aaron, and you'll thank me later when you still look like you're fortyand Dave looks eighty_. _)_

You hummed behind him so he continued. "My lease ends next month."

You're still distracted by the files in front of you so you don't look up as you respond. "Okay, did you want to look for a new place?"

Aaron freezes. _You thought he should look for a new place?_ He'd thought you'd be on the same page as him - him and Jack being practically moved in couldn't have escaped your notice. You didn't seem to have a problem with it…

You realize that he hasn't responded after a minute, so you look up and see him standing there and looking at you oddly - he seems upset. You think back to what you'd just said - there wasn't anything wrong there, unless he'd misunderstood…

"I'm sorry," you speak again, putting down your files, and really looking at him. "I didn't mean you should look for a new place," you explain. "I meant, do you want to look for a new place together - for you, me, and Jack?"

He visibly relaxes at your words and lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Feeling much reassured, he replies, "No, I'm fine with your place." He pulls on his pajamas and hangs the towel to dry, before climbing into bed beside you.

"You're sure? My place is a little girly - we could find somewhere you could have an office or something. Or if you don't want to move, we can bring in some of the stuff from the apartment - redecorate a bit."

He leans over and places a kiss to your cheek. "I am perfectly happy with it as is. Plus, you rarely use your office. I'm the only one that even uses it. But, if you want to redecorate, we can." 

He was right about that. You had a bad habit of working from bed.

"Maybe eventually." You move your files to the nightstand and shift to lay down against him. "I don't think I can handle a decorating project right now, to be honest."

Aaron had been worried about that. You'd been working a lot more recently. "You're sure you're alright, still doing our cases too? It's not too much?"

You sigh and snuggle in closer, prompting him to wrap his arms around you. "No. We both know it'll happen eventually. Just, not yet."

*------------*

Garcia had managed to tie the victims together in an odd way. All three women had dated and subsequently broken up with the same man - Keith Halpert. Halpert had jumped off of a bridge after the final breakup (all of which apparently happened due to his lack of sexual potency) and died a few months back. The team had managed to bring in Keith's older brother - Daniel - who had been deployed overseas at the time of his brother's suicide. It appeared that coming home to his brother's death had resulted in a break which caused him to blame the women for Ketih's suicide. He'd started going through them one by one.

JJ and Reid had taken this particular interrogation while the rest of you watched from the other room. You'd started paying more attention to Aaron's leadership style and noted that he really did try to expose everyone on the team to all parts of the job. JJ hadn't done too many interrogations since becoming a profiler, so sending her in with Reid had been an interesting call in your opinion. But you saw how they played off of one another and it being Reid instead of Hotch or Rossi allowed JJ to feel more in control. You could see that it had been the right decision.

From the interrogation room, you can hear Daniel finally break. "They hurt him. They made fun of him. They're the reason he's dead. So yeah, you wanna hear that I killed them? Of course I did. They deserved it."

"Well, that's good enough for me." Rossi taps on the glass to indicate to Reid and JJ that they're good to close up.

"The things people do for family." Emily sighs, and you can tell she's just happy the case is over.

"I don't know. Seems a little nuts. I mean I get your family being the people you'd die for, but going on a killing spree…" Derek shakes his head as both JJ and Reid emerge.

You find yourself disagreeing with him, but you're not sure you should voice it. You look at Daniel and find yourself almost understanding him. Derek was wrong. Family wasn't the people that you died for. In your jobs, you'd all walked into the face of certain death for complete strangers. No - family was not the people you would die for. Family was the people you'd kill for.

*------------*

You and Aaron had both managed to block out a day to completely move him and Jack out of their apartment, while Jess watched Jack. There weren't too many things there and you'd brought back everything worth keeping in just a couple of trips.

Aaron was sat in his chair in the office, which was the one space you two felt was worth putting the effort into redoing. His old desk from the apartment had been moved in and you had rearranged it so your desks faced one other. Aaron was sifting through old documents and deciding what could be discarded while you sat on the floor, leaning against his legs, and went through boxes of mementos to arrange into the shelves lining the room.

You'd already come across his high school yearbooks and he'd gotten some ribbing about his "80s boyband hair" and the fact that he had been a literal Eagle Scout. _Because of course he had._ You reached into the cardboard box and took out a large blue album. Expecting there to be photos of him and Haley, you flipped it open, only to see cut out newspaper articles.

"What's this?" you asked, tilting your head up to Aaron.

He looks down at what you're holding and you see a fond smile grace his face. He puts down the papers he's holding, leaning down to run his fingers over the article. "Haley and I - we would cut out articles that we liked," he explains, moving his hand from the album to come rest on your head, fingers tangling in your hair. "Anything that really spoke to either of us or felt like it accompanied a milestone, we'd cut it out and paste in here."

You smile, nodding at his explanation. Him and Haley had been really cute with stuff like that and it was always special learning about the little traditions they'd had. You flip through the articles, your eyes skimming the titles - articles from their hometown paper, one from The Seattle Times from the month they moved there, a review from a restaurant in D.C. they'd undoubtedly ate at. It was a chronograph of their life together.

Aaron found himself watching you peruse the album, taking in all of these things that happened to him which preceded you and were intimately tied to his life with Haley. The soft smile on your face as you took it all in - you'd always been so wonderful about his and Haley's relationship and her continued role in your lives.

He was just about to turn back to sorting through the papers scattered on the desk, when he felt you tense against his legs. Your hands moved slowly over the title of an article, and as Aaron read over your shoulder, he saw that it was an article related to the Gilbert and Sullivan play during which him and Haley had met. His eyes scanned through the title and content of the article, unsure why this would've caught your attention. That is, until his eyes caught the byline and he felt his stomach clench.

"Matthew wrote that," he says, his voice obviously having startled you, as you flinch as though you'd been caught doing something wrong.

You start to say something but then seem to think better of it, shutting the album and standing up to start organizing the shelves. Aaron can't help the dread he starts to feel. Anytime your ex-fiancé has come up he's learned something awful about him. Aaron's well aware of how painful that relationship was for you, but he doesn't want to let this go.

He moves to grab your waist and pull you back towards him. "What were you going to say?" he asks, his concern for you fully evident in his tone and how gently his hands smoothed over your back.

You look at him, appearing conflicted on what to say and he can tell you're about to brush it away. He pulls you closer, bringing you down to sit sideways across his thighs. "Hey, come on," he says softly, "please tell me."

You bite your lip, not meeting his eyes. "You're going to think I'm really stupid," you mumble, your hands finding the edge of his shirt and bunching into it.

"I really doubt that," he reassures you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as your eyes flutter shut and you take a deep breath.

You struggled to meet his eyes, your shoulders tense and hands clenched tightly around the fabric of his shirt. But he's looking at you with such concern and love - you don't want him to worry or misconstrue your reaction. "Matthew didn't write that," you explain. His brows furrow and you can feel him tense underneath you. "I did."

Aaron closes his eyes for a moment, processing what you'd just told him. Slowly he asks, "Then why is his name on the article?"

You aren't looking at him any longer, instead turning your face forward. It's easier to explain if you don't have to watch the disappointment in his eyes. "When I was a freshman, I tried out for the Crimson. Every freshman wanting to be on the paper has to write an article for the department they're trying out for. I wrote mine for the arts and chose The Pirates of Penzance, because I'd seen the Harvard theatre troupe perform it. Matthew was a senior and editor in chief of the paper. When he read it, he told me it was some of the best work he'd ever read by a freshman."

Aaron nods. It had been an exceptionally well written article talking about the relevance of Gilbert and Sullivan's works in the modern age. Both him and Haley had really loved the article and that's why it had made its way into the album.

"But," and you take a deep breath, building up to the crux of the matter, "he told me that freshmen who weren't on the paper yet couldn't get published and that it would look a lot more credible if someone with more experience was listed in the byline."

Aaron's face turned stony. The bastard had recognized your work as exceptional and then taken credit for it.

"And then," you continued, "it got picked up by the New York Times for their arts and leisure feature." You let out a hollow half laugh. "It was unheard of - a freshman being picked."

"Why didn't you say something?" Aaron asks, his hands running soothingly down your thighs. You can tell he's angry by how stiff his posture is.

"I did - I was so mad at him. And then he asked me to be his girlfriend. He was a good looking, charming, senior from a decent family - my parents approved. I'd never had a boyfriend before, and well…it wasn't as though I wanted to be a journalist anyways," you shrug. Aaron has some idea of how different things were for you in college - how different you'd been. But you know that everytime it has to surprise him at least a little bit. It's as though you're talking about an entirely different person.

When Aaron speaks next, his voice is low and controlled and you can tell it's taking a considerable amount of effort for him to not scare you with how outraged he is on your behalf. "You were young and he manipulated you. You didn't deserve that."

Your smile sadly at his words and nod, agreeing with him. "I know. I let him get away with a lot because I didn't know any better back then."

It's quiet for a moment before you speak again. "It's different with you, you know. With Matthew there were so many times where I had to convince myself that he was the right choice - that I should be with him. I knew that he wasn't a good person but he fit the mold of who I was expected to be with. Someone who pursued power and opportunity and on whose arm, I would be the perfect wife." Your voice has a bitter quality to it as you speak. "But with you, I've never once questioned it. I've always known how good of a person you are, Aaron."

Aaron feels his stomach unclench slightly as you speak. He reaches up to cup your face, bringing your lips down to his in a sweet kiss. As you pull away, your eyes seem brighter and there's a hint of a smile on your lips. He can feel the tenseness of your earlier conversation leaving you slowly.

"You want to know a secret?" you ask, your arms coming to wind around his neck.

At his smile, you continue. "Back when I first joined the team, Reid and I had this bit we would do. Anytime we weren't sure what to do, we'd ask each other - W.W.H.D - What Would Hotch Do?"

Aaron rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh. "You put me on way too high of a pedestal, sweetheart," he mumbles, his head tucked into the crook of your neck.

You move to meet his eyes, your hand coming down to cup his jaw. "No, I don't. You're my moral compass Aaron. You're the voice in my head, telling me the right thing to do, and you have been for as long as I've known you."

Aaron has no idea how to respond to your statement. There's not a doubt in his mind that you're being completely honest about this.

"I didn't grow up around good people, Aaron. You're the person who taught me that being good and moral doesn't have to be a weakness - but that it can be a strength. And you show me and Jack that, every single day."

He can feel the sincerity radiating off of you and he leans into your touch, your lips meeting his again, all consuming.


	37. Seven Months

**_*The events of this chapter take place in the seven months during which Emily Prentiss was presumed dead.*_ **

Penelope had decorated Derek's new office. He hadn't taken over Hotch's office - he'd felt weird about that. It was where you found him usually now, late at night after everyone else had left. You'd found yourself staying late quite a bit more.

Reid was taking Emily's death harder than anyone - you know that JJ had been over to his place a lot along with Penelope. Rossi was trying to take him under his wing and make sure he was keeping it together enough to still do the job. You were struggling to get your own oxygen mask on to really help Spencer with his. You hadn't slept more than a couple of fitful hours any night since Hotch left.

The team was down three people and none of you had wanted to go through the hiring process of bringing in and training someone new. However, this meant a lot of extra work for Derek as the new Unit Chief. Rossi was chipping in a bit, but with JJ also gone and no media liaison, his job was becoming impossible. You and Rossi had split up some of the remaining work, with Penelope automating case selection using an algorithm she'd designed. You'd taken on most of the media liaison work in order to spare Derek when he was already on edge. You were all on edge though - all the time.

*------------*

The four of you - Derek, Reid, Rossi, and yourself - were in Austin for a case. There was some sort of convention going on and the killer seemed to be targeting attendees. They'd found two dead already. The team had arrived earlier in the morning and made some progress, but had nothing more to go on for the moment, so you'd all arrived at the hotel for the night.

"They only have two rooms," Derek tells the rest of you, returning from the front desk. With the convention, there hadn't been much space available and the two rooms available were only free because their occupants were dead. The hotel had worked quickly to flip over the crime scenes back into functioning guest rooms.

The three men turned to look at you. "I'll bunk with Derek, if that's okay," you respond, looking at him to confirm if he was alright with it. You didn't want to console Reid tonight and didn't have it in you to deal with Rossi's insistence on _talking_.

Derek nods and the four of you head up in the elevators to your respective rooms. Reid and Rossi get out on the third floor while you and Derek continue on to the fifth.

"You wanna shower first?" he asks you, opening the door and letting you in first.

"Yeah, that would be nice, thanks."

You go to get clean and when you return, Derek has the case files laid out on the room desk. Upon your exit, he goes to shower himself, leaving you to look over the files and browse through the snack bar. You hadn't had an appetite during dinner and a late night snack was definitely the right call.

By the time Derek got back, you'd made it through half the pack of peanut m&ms and were sitting on the edge of the bed. You look up at his emergence, pajama pants slung low on his hips, and for a second, you have to admire how incredibly fit he is.

"Is that from the boxing?" you ask, eyebrows raised as you more or less ogle his abs.

Derek laughs - a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes but the gesture is there. "You should let me train you, princess. I think you'd like it. Work off some of that aggression."

"Hmm, if you can promise me results like that, you're on." You scooch yourself up towards the headboard and pull the covers up, starting to feel just a little awkward about having picked him to bunk with.

"You got it."

He senses your hesitancy as he climbs into bed on the other side. "You're sure you're okay with this? I can take the couch."

"No, I just," you pause, unsure of how to explain. The only other person on the team you've ever shared a bed with is Emily. Emily who holds you and brushes a hand through your hair until you fall asleep. "Sorry, no. It's not you. It's…," you stop again, knowing you really shouldn't say anything at all. _And yet, maybe_ … "Emily used to cuddle," you mumble, your face immediately becoming warm.

You're not sure if it was because of how obviously embarrassed you are or because he too wouldn't mind having someone to hold right now, that Derek just smiles understandingly. "Come here, princess. We can cuddle too."

That's how you find yourself in a hotel room in the middle of Texas, Derek Morgan's strong arms wrapped around your waist, his lower half tilted respectfully away, and his lips grazing the top of your head in the sweetest way. He was no Emily, but he was exactly what you needed in that moment. You slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

*------------*

Strauss had shut down the investigation into Doyle. She'd cited jurisdiction and said that no one on the BAU was permitted to continue looking into it. You knew that both Derek and Rossi had protested against it, but it was to no avail.

This was the time where you felt angriest with Hotch for leaving. He would've stood up to Strauss way more. Nothing against Derek and Rossi, but Hotch no longer cared about the politics of the Bureau - you knew that by the way he'd stood up to her countless times before. Rossi didn't either but he also had an odd relationship with Strauss - something told you he actually liked her, so he was choosing to respect her decision on the matter.

Derek had far too much going on to wage a war against Strauss and keep running the team at the same time. You were on your own. You took out the card Easter had handed you at Emily's wake from the drawer it had sat in, along with the pearl earrings you'd worn that day. Pearls were for old women and funerals, as your mother used to say.

*------------*

"The Unsub is suspected to be a white male in his mid-to-late twenties. He will have poor social skills - he's probably someone who makes you uncomfortable but you can't figure out why. He will have a low income job which he does not like. He perceives himself as being better than those around him and likely had an older female figure in his life whom he feared. We ask that the public keep an eye out for any individuals meeting this description. Thank you."

You had just delivered the profile at the press conference for a serial rapist who was breaking into women's homes when they were alone, raping them, and then tattooing them with his signature, before leaving them unconscious, naked, and tied up outside their homes. It had been a harrowing few days and the entire city was on edge after the fourth victim had come forward, having been found by her neighbor early the next morning.

Derek looks up at you as you enter the room again. "You alright?"

You simply nod, sighing and lowering yourself into the chair next to him. Reid was working on the geographic profile and so far it seemed that you had your work cut out for you - there wasn't a pattern that was emerging. Rossi had gone out with the lead detective on the case to the newest crime scene. You watched Derek turn back and you could feel the frustration radiating off of him in waves. You have to wonder how much more these cases hit him.

It took another two days and one more victim before a real pattern emerged and after finally getting the results back from the lab, Garcia was able to track down the Unsub using a specific dye he was using in all of the women's tattoos. Everyone was upset with themselves - this was hardly a victory. You take note of how aggressively Derek puts the Unsub in handcuffs and shoves him towards the car.

It's evening by the time the plane lands in D.C. and you get back to the office. You're about to head out, but decide to swing by Derek's office to check on him. Grabbing your bag, you walk down the empty hallway towards his office.

"Hey," you say, arriving in his doorway. He's sitting in mostly darkness, only the light from his desk lamp illuminating his office.

He looks up at your voice, a soft smile gracing his face. "What're you still doing here?"

"Wanted to check in on you, boss," you tease, smiling back at him, and make your way into his office. You drop your bag to the floor and settle into the chair across from him, pulling your legs up. You had a feeling he wasn't leaving anytime soon, and you didn't really want him to be alone in the office on a Friday night.

He shakes his head as you make yourself comfortable and grab the top half of the files sitting directly in front of him, plucking a pen from the holder on his desk.

"You should go home, you didn't sign up for this."

You look up at him, taking in the eyebags and tired shoulders. "Neither did you."

The two of you work together and make a significant dent in the files that had sat on his desk. The growing stack of completed folders was motivating you to just barrel through. The more you two got done tonight, the less he would take home with him for the weekend.

You find yourself watching him as you work. You know this case was hard on him - both because of how brutally the victims had been treated as well as his own history with Carl Buford. Merely the thought of Buford was enough to piss you off - you were glad he was serving a life sentence, because when he'd first been arrested, it had taken everything in you to watch the detective put him in handcuffs and not punch him in the face. You'd barely known Derek back then, and yet you could tell how completely Buford's act had hurt him, changed him, and stayed with him. 

"How are you doing?" you ask softly, pausing your work and watching Derek's face carefully. He'd know what you meant.

Derek stops and looks up to meet your eyes. He puts down his pen and leans forward in his chair, across the desk. "I'm alright. They're always rough. Him being in prison didn't make this part any easier. But…I'm hanging in there, I guess."

You nod. He's not alright, but it doesn’t really help to vocalize that unless you have the time and capacity to deal with it. It's easier to say you're alright until you are.

"Are you?" He'd noticed you had been just a little off - just a little too nice to the victims, a little too eager to rough up the Unsub in the interrogation. He'd been on cases like this with you before, but it was the first time since Hotch and Prentiss were gone. Everything about you lately was like a raw nerve and he knew something wasn't quite right.

"What do you mean?" You hadn't expected him to ask you that.

Derek fixes you with the same look he gives you when he's coaching you in the ring and you try to pretend you hadn't carelessly left yourself exposed. That was the bad part about getting close to people - it becomes harder to cover yourself.

You take in his expression, knowing he wouldn't just let you avoid it. You shift to put the files on his desk, adjusting to pull your knees in front of you, feet planted firmly on the seat of the chair, and wrap your arms around your legs. The darkness of the office helps you feel less exposed.

"It wasn't the same as you. I wasn't a kid," you tell him, your voice low and eyes trained on his hands which lay on the desk. You'd been old enough to know better and you should've been strong enough and confident enough to stop it. It was so different from how it had been for him.

His brow wrinkled as he took in what you'd revealed. Standing slowly so as to not startle you, he comes around to your side of the desk and crouches down to be eye level with you. His hands rest on top of your, sending warmth throughout you. You look to meet his eyes, expecting to see something akin to pity - you didn't want him to see you that way. However Derek's eyes are warm and kind and so very _him_ \- not a hint of pity in them.

He appears to hesitate for a moment, but seems to convince himself to go through with it. "Who?"

You move your hand to grip his and he squeezes. Your voice is barely audible. "My ex, Matthew."

Derek sucks in a breath at the familiar name. He'd had some indication in the past that your ex-fiancé was bad news. After all, you'd ended an engagement with him and he knew you well enough to know you didn't make decisions like that lightly.

There was a lot you didn't talk about when it came to Matthew - while the truth about Julian's death had been the nail in the coffin, propelling your escape, your relationship with Matthew had been rocky for months preceding that. In hindsight, you wondered when it had ever been actually good.

You know you owed Derek more of an explanation, however. After all, he'd trusted you about Buford.

"It was towards the end," you continue, your voice scratchy as you blinked back tears. "I didn't really want to sleep with him anymore, but - ." You stop. You hadn't realized how hard it would be to share this with someone. Derek's thumb is rubbing soothingly against your hand and you decide to focus on that. "Fulfilling your duty - that's a big deal in the circles I'm from," you explain. "I was set to be his wife. I wasn't allowed to say no to my husband. So I just…let him do what he wanted."

Derek could tell it hadn't been a one time thing but he didn't think he could stand knowing how often that bastard had forced you into it. All he could see was how small you looked in the chair - he didn't have a doubt in his mind that the woman in front of him today was more than capable of dealing with a monster like that. But back then, with no one to teach you how to protect yourself, he could just imagine how scared you'd been and how going along with it had been your safest option.

He tries to stifle down the anger he feels but his hand is shaking and he knows you can tell. But he also knows what it's like to share something awful and then have to comfort the other person instead. So for you, he takes a deep breath and forces a sense of calm that he doesn't truly feel. To be fair, calm wasn't a feeling he was familiar with anymore.

"You being an adult doesn't change anything. You being in a relationship with him - that's not an excuse," he says, his large hand cupping your face, looking into your eyes. "What he did - only someone rotten to the core could do that. And you still got away. You won."

You lean into his touch and allow yourself to fall into him. Derek shifts on the floor, back against his desk, bringing you down next to him. His hand still clasped tightly in yours as your head comes to settle on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

And you know you don't have to ask him to not tell anyone. Of all people, he wouldn't.

*------------*

You had spent the entire day at the Zoo - Jack, Sophie, and Evan had wanted to see every single animal and had dragged you through the entire place twice. You got a ton of photos of the three of them posing adorably in front of every exhibit. Jess would want a copy of every single one, you were sure. She and Andrew were spending the day at home without the kids and had plans to go dancing in the evening.

By the time you got back to Jess's place after grabbing burgers for dinner, it was late - late for children at least. Sophie and Evan were quick to clean themselves up, thanking you for everything, before turning in for the night. Jess had raised two really good kids and you got why it was easy for Hotch to leave Jack with her. You might not fully understand how he was able to leave Jack in the first place, but you could see that it was a little bit easier knowing that someone like Jess was there to help.

You and Jess had grown closer these last couple of months with Hotch gone. The first time you'd showed up at her door unannounced, she'd greeted you with a hug and welcome you in to see Jack. You'd been so grateful for her understanding. Seeing Jack made things feel a little better, if only for a few hours.

You approached the door to Andrew's office, which had been converted into Jack's bedroom. Knocking softly, you turned the knob at Jack's invitation. He had changed into his pajamas and was sat at the little play table in the room.

"Hey baby," you whispered, trying to keep your voice low so as to not disturb the other two kids. "What're you doing?"

Jack was sat in the little chair, his tiny hands gripping a marker in one hand. You walked towards him and sat on the ground next to his chair.

"Y/N, can you help me?" He mimics your soft tone, understanding that it was time to be more quiet.

"Of course I can. What do you need help with?"

"With my Val-Valem-Valentine's Day card," he explained, stumbling over the long word.

You smiled encouragingly. He was really getting better with the big words.

"Yeah, I can help. What do you need me to do?"

"Auntie Jess said we can mail it to Daddy," he said, pointing at the blue piece of construction paper that he'd folded in half. "Can you please draw the heart? Mine doesn't look right." The little pout on his face was too adorable to resist.

You looked at the card he was making. It already had _Daddy_ written on it in Jack's childish handwriting and about a hundred stickers. Jack was indicating towards a small spot at the end right above his name.

Your heart aches, knowing that this is the kind of thing that Haley would've done with him. You're happy that at least Jess is around to make sure that Jack and Hotch both have some of these sweeter moments. Jess _would_ think of something like this. Most of your actions around Jack were driven off of asking yourself what your own parents would do - and then doing the exact opposite. But things like this, you couldn't help but feel out of your depth - you wouldn't have even known to do it. Your parents hadn't been the kind to appreciate things like children's artwork and homemade gifts.

You smile at Jack and ask him which color marker to use. He picks out a red one. You carefully outline a heart right where he'd pointed and then hand him the marker to color it in. Once he's done, he blows on it to make sure its dry, before closing the card.

"Jack, did you put all your love into the card?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

He turns to you, confused. "I put hearts everywhere," he replies, pointing at all the stickers on the front of the card.

"That's good, but I think its missing that extra little something. Has anyone ever taught you how to put all of your love into a card, before?"

He shakes his head and you can tell he's intrigued.

Your voice is low as if revealing a secret, making him lean closer to you to hear. "Cards are special because they come from people we love," you explain, "But you can make them extra special. All you have to do is hold the card in your hands, close your eyes, and think about the person the card is for. Think about everything you love about them and let that feeling fill you up. Then you place a kiss on the inside of the card and when the other person opens it, they'll feel it. They'll feel all of your love for them when they read the card."

Jack is quiet for a bit as he thinks through what you said. You watch as he gets up and pushes his chair out of the way to sit by you on the ground. He looks up at you, card clenched tightly in both hands. "Will you do it with me, Y/N?" he asks, his brown eyes shining up at you, a perfect reflection of his father's. "That way Daddy has more love so he gets back home okay."

You force yourself to smile at his request. You can't tell a child that you're still pissed at his father for running off to Pakistan. "Of course baby, come here." Pulling Jack into your lap, you wrap your hands around his, clutching the card. "Alright, remember, close your eyes and think about everything you love about Daddy."

You know Jack is going to take this extremely seriously, so you know you have to as well. Closing your eyes you (temporarily) let go of the anger you feel towards Hotch. Instead you choose to remember his smile that brings out his dimples, the warmth that radiates off of him and penetrates you anytime he hugs you, that time he drove out forty-five minutes in the rain to help change your flat tire, the way he makes you feel completely safe anytime you're with him, and how good of a father he tries to be to Jack. You take a deep breath and let the good memories of him permeate through every part of you. When you open your eyes Jack is waiting for you, card open. You watch as he places a small dry kiss to the center of the card and then holds it up towards you. Tightening your hold on him, you lean forward and brush your lips against the same spot.

Jack quickly closes the card shut, as if afraid the love would float away otherwise. You stand up, lifting him along with you. After tucking the card in a safe spot, you help him get into bed and pick up the book on the nightstand. He's out before you even get to the second page.

*------------*

You hadn't heard much from Easter in the way of Ian Doyle. Part of you thought you should tell Morgan and Rossi that you'd contacted him, but you knew they'd object. You figured it was better to wait until there was something concrete. _Easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission._ However, you couldn't help but feel dejected at the complete lack of progress. Doyle seemed to be underground and there was no intel on his whereabouts.

Work hadn't improved - if anything it appeared the cases were even more rapid fire, as though Derek was taking on more and more to avoid being home at all. This was only the first night you were back in two weeks. The last two cases had come back to back, so you'd flown straight to Tampa from Utah. You did understand Derek in a way - staying busy was the only way to stop wallowing. But he was running everyone, especially himself, ragged.

You and Rossi had put your foot down with him on the jet and insisted on no new cases for at least two days. Penelope was under strict instructions to not even hint at a case to him. Rossi had promised her a nice bottle of Chianti for her trouble and she'd been easily persuaded after you told her how tired Derek looked.

As you parked and got out of the car, you felt an overwhelming sense of unease. You'd been around someone or the other for the past two weeks straight with hardly a moment alone. Derek and you had gotten oddly comfortable sleeping next to one another, so even in a room with two double beds, you'd found yourself in his bed or vice versa most nights. Walking into a large, empty house all by yourself felt intimidating.

You opened the door and set your bag just inside, before locking it again. You drove first to the corner store and picked out some supplies, before driving again towards your destination.

When Derek opened his door to you, you could see the slight surprise on his face at the sight. There you stood, still wearing the leggings and sweatshirt you'd changed into on the plane, clutching a bottle of scotch in one hand while your other was wrapped around a box of the powdered sugary donuts that were his ultimate weakness. He finds himself letting out a small chuckle as he waves you inside.

"Thought you'd gotten enough of me already. Isn't that why we're on mandatory time off?" He follows behind you as you flop yourself onto his familiar couch.

You rolled your eyes at him. "You know we all needed the time off."

He sits down beside you, reaching for the box of donuts. Your last meal had been an early lunch before the plane ride home and you reckon he hadn't eaten anything since then either. You take the top off of the bottle of scotch, and not bothering with a glass, just take a swig straight from the mouth.

Derek raises an eyebrow at that. "Something you wanna talk about, princess?" His mouth already had the sugar dust around ,it as he reaches for a second donut.

"Just didn't wanna be home alone," you mumble out, handing over the bottle to him and breaking off half the donut in his hand for yourself.

You sitting on his couch - that wasn't an unfamiliar sight for him. You drinking scotch straight from the bottle, however, that gave him some pause. You weren't really a cheap liquor straight from the bottle kind of girl - that had been more Prentiss's thing. Even though it was the higher end of the bodega scotch, it still wasn't at the level of stuff you kept stocked at your place. He had to surmise that you hadn't even bothered to go inside.

"Are things ever going to go back to normal, Derek?" You settled in closer to him and he could feel the warmth of your thigh against his own. Your question caught him by surprise, but it was really the way you sighed out his name that made his brain stutter.

He had to really think about the question. He'd asked himself that countless times and each time he'd give up on crafting a response - he didn't have one. It had been more than five months since Prentiss died and Hotch left him in charge. That hadn't been how he'd wanted to get the job and every day he became more and more certain that he actually never wanted it. Hotch had managed it all, on top of a kid and made it seem effortless. He'd known it wasn't of course - Hotch worked harder than anyone else in the Bureau, but he was also working his way into an early grave. Derek didn't like seeing himself on the same path. But he couldn't quit now. Not when you'd lost both Prentiss and Hotch. He wouldn't leave you or Reid like that.

_Normal_ though, he couldn't even wrap his brain around the concept anymore. None of this was normal. Strauss was pressuring him to hire someone already but he was resistant still. Keeping the team as it was - you, Rossi, Reid, and Garcia - that was the closest thing within his grasp to normal. He wasn't ready to let that go.

He realizes he's been quiet for too long and you're still waiting for some sort of response. He turns and he's met with your large doe eyes looking right at him and your face is so close to his. For a second he thinks you're drunk already, but the bottle of scotch barely has a dent in it. You hadn't drank more since you'd passed it off to him.

"I don't know," he says, his voice low and deep, sending a pang deep in your stomach. His face is so close to yours but you know it's your own fault for moving to be right beside him. Derek hadn't done anything wrong. You'd shown up at his door, at night, a bottle of liquor in hand. You weren't sure what you were thinking - all you'd wanted was to not be alone. It was _Derek_ and right now he was the only person that made you feel not alone.

Your head is still rested against his shoulder and his face is tilted towards yours. There's a look that passes between you. You're not sure which one of you leaned in first, only that his lips are pressed against yours. In the next second, you're hauled up and placed on his lap, knees resting on either side of him. You'd opened your mouth and he's exploring yours, drawing a moan from deep within as his large hands wrap around your back. He tastes like sugar and scotch and you know you taste the same. Your own hands travel under his shirt, mouth never once leaving his, the trail of your light, cold fingers sending a shiver down his spine. He's pulling you impossibly close against him and _wow it's Derek but oh my goodness it's Derek but it's Derek and it's Derek and it's Derek._ You're panting into his mouth and grinding yourself into his lap and it feels _so_ good. You've managed to slip his t-shirt up and he breaks away from your mouth to pull it off all the way, giving you a moment to breathe.

Your eyes meet his again, only this time neither one of you leans in. The moment to breathe was a moment of clarity and you both watch one another with uncertain eyes. He breaks first, and the sound of his laugh - the first truly happy laugh you've heard from him in months - sets off yours as well. It feels incredible to laugh again - like it’s a high. To laugh and to have it reach your eyes and to see it reflected in his - you hadn't realized how foreign that had become to you.

His chest rumbles underneath you as you come to grips with your situation. His hands drop from your waist and yours come back to your side as you swing your leg to get off of his lap. The remnants of laughter still linger between you as he slips his shirt back on over his head.

His hand finds yours on the couch and squeezes. "Are we going to be okay?" he asks, the laughter finally subsiding.

"We are okay," you tell him swiping at the sugar on his chin.

He nods, pushing up off of the couch and then reaching back to pull you up as well. "Alright then, princess. Let's go to bed."

Hand still gripped in his, you follow him to the bedroom.

It had been five months too long of this new not normal.


	38. Miss Me

Working with another team was weird and uncomfortable. You'd never quite realized how many _men_ there were in the Bureau. The BAU had always been almost fifty-fifty so you'd never really felt like the only woman save for the few months JJ and Emily had been away. Even then you'd had Garcia in your ear most times and it wasn't as though Hotch, Derek, Rossi, and Reid had ever once felt threatening or belittled you.

McKinney had put you on a local taskforce for the week while Hotch and the team went off to a case in Nevada. There was an embezzlement ring being conducted out of the back of various DC gentlemen's clubs and you had been asked to tag along and create a profile for the ring leader. From the second you'd arrived at the location where the taskforce members were set up, you'd been questioned at every turn. Every single thing you said, ignored. Every suggestion you made, brushed off. It had been like that all week. The only thing that made it bearable was being able to go home every night and hang out with Jack.

You have to call Mrs. Avery Thursday afternoon and tell her that you won't be making it home in time for dinner. You'd been at work since seven in the morning and all signs pointed to you being able to close in on the suspect. The team had been able to use a paper trail and using the details of the profile you'd created _(not that you got any credit for it)_ had managed to tighten the noose. The arrest was quick but the interrogation lasted till late that night. Every single time you asked to be let into the interrogation room, your request was denied.

By the time you walked through the door, you had been on your feet for hours and couldn't wait to just crawl into bed. The house was dimly lit and you knew Jack would be long asleep. You'd have to apologize to Mrs. Avery for keeping her so late.

"You're home," Aaron's voice startles you as you closed the door. He's sitting on the couch wearing his pajamas, a case file in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other, reading by the single light in the corner of the room.

You can feel the tension leaving your body as he smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Dropping your bag and toeing off your shoes you walk over to him, grabbing both the file and the scotch away and placing them on the coffee table, before climbing into his lap facing him and wrapping yourself around him.

He's a little surprised, but quickly folds his legs up to hold you closer, bringing his arms around you. "Rough week?" he asks his voice low and calm, as you burrow your head into the crook of his neck.

Later, you'd tell him all about the case and Agent Jones being an asshole and how much working without him sucked. Later you'd tell him that you weren't sure about what Jones was going to tell McKinney about your performance and that you're worried. He would remind you that not everyone knew how capable you were and that sometimes you have to get in people's faces a bit, even if they intimidate you. Jones trusted men more than women, but would respect you more if you stood up to him and called him out. He would remind you that you still had the best interview he'd ever seen and ask you where that girl was, the one that had left them all speechless. Later, he'd tell you how proud he was of you for venturing out and doing all of this on your own.

However right then, you only nod, so he lets you be, holding you tighter.

*------------*

You'd become friendly with McKinney's assistant, Gladys Prince, who liked her coffee to be a white mocha, thank you kindly. It was because of her, that the next day you arrived at work wearing a dress, red lips, and five inch heels which resulted in Emily asking if you and Hotch were about to do some boss secretary roleplay after everyone else left. You chose not to dignify that with an answer.

You had a feeling you were about to be pulled into a case today, based on Penelope being in and out of Hotch's office, and that was making you anxious. You were annoying Spencer with how erratically your fingers moved across your keyboard. He glared at you from across the way and opened his mouth to say something snarky, when Hotch called everyone up to be briefed on the case. _Crap._

The words "Wheels up in 30" had never annoyed you quite so much. _He couldn't have pushed this by an hour?_ You return to your desk to gather your stuff and you're just about to accept defeat, when there's a voice right next to your ear.

"Hello love."

You have to bite back your smirk before you turn around. "Clyde!" You quickly stand to greet him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. You can see the slight surprise on his face as he takes you in, before he greets Reid, Derek, and Emily behind you.

"Clyde," Emily stands to meet him, "what're you doing here?"

"Oh just in the neighborhood. Thought I'd pop by and say hello to my favorite FBI agents," he smirks and winks in your direction, resulting in you giggling and tucking your hair behind your hair.

Derek comes over as well to shake his hand while Spencer waves and walks off to fetch JJ for the drive over to the airport.

"It's a shame you just got here," you say, placing a delicate hand to his arm. "We're about to fly out for a case. How long are you in town for?"

"I'll be here a week. Wrap up quick and let's grab drinks when you're back?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow in your direction.

You smile, biting your lip. "Definitely."

You all said your goodbyes to him and you walked up the stairs to grab Hotch and Rossi for the ride over to the airport.

You're sat next to Hotch in your usual seat as he wraps up the preliminary profile discussion on the plane, when Derek and Emily finally turn to you.

"So, what was that earlier with you and Easter?" Derek asks, with a glance in Hotch's direction as if to gauge whether or not he's listening.

You have to suppress an eyeroll. They'd been so very obvious with their curiosity ever since they'd watched you talking to Clyde. However, you didn't really feel like telling them quite so easily. Sometimes it's fun to keep people guessing. "What do you mean?" you ask, forcing your voice to be as neutral as possible.

"Oh come on, Y/N," Emily says from across you, "what was with the flirting?"

_Wow Em, not like my boyfriend is seated right next to me. But sure, call me out for flirting with someone else._

You have to suppress a smirk at that, knowing Aaron's listening now even though his eyes are on the file in his hand. "Nothing wrong with a little healthy competition," you smirk, nudging Aaron with your elbow.

You can _feel_ Aaron's internal groan at you dragging him into it. "Stop."

"What?" you ask him, thoroughly amused.

He looks up then, not at you but at Emily and Derek. "Easter's leading a joint taskforce between Interpol and the Bureau," he explains in his no nonsense voice that no longer works on you. All you have to do is call him _Agent Hotchner_ and it changes instantly into the deeper, darker tone he reserves just for you. "She," he continues, "wants in."

_What a spoilsport._

"You're okay with that?" Derek asks him.

You'd talked to him about Easter earlier - of course you had. He'd even helped pick out the outfit. He had been surprisingly alright with the tactic, which you hadn't quite anticipated. If anything you'd expected some sort of weird jealousy when you'd explained that you and Clyde had gotten to know one another during the time he was away. But of course, Aaron Hotchner was above such base emotions such as jealousy.

He has a small smile on his face as he finally looks in your direction. "I don't control her."

_Yeah, okay. Tell that to the guy that practically ordered me to join him in the shower this morning._

Emily scoffs as though she doesn't believe that for even a second. "Bet you'd feel different if you'd seen her. _Oh Clyde you're here! Of course we should get drinks._ "

You narrow your eyes at her. "I don't sound like that."

Derek and Emily exchange looks saying that they think you sound _exactly_ like that.

"Is that really how you want to get the spot though?" JJ asks, apparently having been listening the whole time. Why any of you thought plane conversations were private was a mystery.

You look at her, seated across from Rossi, and scoff. "Please, people already think far worse about me. I might as well have it work in my favor for once." Which was definitely true. You'd been in the bathroom the other day and overheard some very defamatory things about yourself and Director McKinney. _The man was married. As if!_ People needed to get lives.

Aaron tenses a bit at that. He knew your relationship becoming public had definitely been harder on you. The rumor mill was constant and even a professional environment like the Bureau wasn't immune to petty gossip.

"Do you think it'll actually work?" Spencer asks, flipping shut his novel. Apparently this was more interesting for everyone, even him.

Before you can respond, however, Rossi decides to put his two cents in. "Of course it'll work. Look at her with the dress and the fuck-me-heels. You really think any man in his right mind would deny her anything?"

You cringe and color at that. Rossi was basically the closest thing to a father figure you had at this point. A Hugh Hefner shaped father figure, sure, but still. The heels weren't even _that_ bad. 

"Gee, thanks Rossi."

Aaron shakes his head in disapproval, turning back to his files, indicating to everyone that this conversation was definitely over.

He feels your hand against his arm and he turns to look at your concerned face. _Are you okay?_

He nods, but still tucks your hand into the crook of his arm before turning back to his files. He was content with the knowledge that the only man who actually got to see you in nothing _but_ the fuck-me-heels was him.

*------------*

Rossi had been right. Who could deny you anything? Clyde had offered you the spot on the taskforce the second you landed back in DC. Which was great, because it had been the only assignment that you'd actually wanted. It employed your language skills, was interesting, and had the exact amount of visibility to help you move ahead afterwards. Plus, it didn't hurt that you felt very comfortable with Clyde despite his flirty attitude.

Once you'd actually gotten the job, you'd immediately told him you were with Hotch. Fortunately, he'd already known from his conversation with McKinney and had chosen you anyways. You could rest assured that he hadn't chosen you just because he thought he had a shot.

You'd spent three weeks away from the team, only flying back midway so you could be there for Jack's school play. You called Jack and Aaron nightly but it wasn't quite the same. Once this taskforce was over, you'd have to find something more local because otherwise, between you and the BAU team's cases, you and Aaron could easily go months without seeing one another and you didn't really like the thought of that. It felt too close to how things had gone bad with him and Haley.

When you landed back in DC, it was early morning but you knew that by the time you got home, Aaron would be at work and Jack at school. Deciding to surprise him and take advantage of having time off from the assignment with Interpol, you walked into work later in the morning.

"Hey, you're here!" Emily gets up to greet you, placing a quick kiss to your cheek, and the first thing you notice is her hair.

"Hey, you got bangs."

Misconstruing the surprised look on your face, she immediately asks, "Is it that bad?"

"No, sorry. Just surprised. It looks really good," you reassure her, reaching out and touching her shorter hair.

"Sugar, you're back!" You hear Penelope come up from behind you, tablet in hand.

"Hi Pen, long time no see." You'd missed her and the two of you had some tv shows to catch up on once you settled in.

"Come along my little defenders of the earth. We have a case," she says, drawing you all upstairs.

You walk into the briefing room and see everyone else already upstairs around the table. You quickly greet everyone hello and take a seat across from Aaron. He's wearing his grey suit that you love on him and the black tie which happens to match the black top you're wearing but you always tell him black is a cop out - and yet it's nice to see that some things don't change. He has a cup of coffee in front of him that you know is his third of the morning.

He smiles, pleasantly surprised, when he sees you. "Welcome back," he says, his voice warm and inviting and everything you'd missed while you were gone. Hearing his voice on the phone really wasn't good enough.

"Hey," you smile back, before noticing the new face at the table seated next to him. "Hi, I don't think we've met."

Aaron turns to the young blonde girl seated to his right, as if he'd forgotten she even existed. "Y/N, this is the new intern, Natalie Scott. Natalie, this is Agent L/N. She's also part of the team but has been away on another consult."

You rise and reach across the table to shake her hand. Natalie was model pretty with her long blonde hair, giant eyes, and sharp cheekbones with a skirt that reached mid thigh. _That definitely is not regulation._

After the briefing, you were hoping to sneak a moment alone with Aaron, however Emily and JJ ask you to drive to the airport with them, insisting that they had some major catching up to do. You shoot Aaron an apologetic smile, conveying that you'd catch him later, before following the two of them and Morgan to the parking garage.

"Alright, so catch me up, what's going on?" you ask as Derek pulls out of the garage, expecting some news from Emily on a new guy.

JJ however is the one to speak first. "What'd you think of Natalie?"

You hadn't been expecting that question to say the least, so you simply shrug. "I don't know enough to think one way or the other," you reply, curious as to why she'd even ask.

"You should watch her," Emily says, leaning around from the front seat.

Your brow furrows as you look at her and JJ and then Derek. Derek is firmly keeping his hands on the steering wheel and looking straight ahead as though he wants nothing to do with whatever is going on.

"Why?" you ask, but you already have a bad feeling about this.

You watch as JJ and Emily exchange a look and have a silent fight about which one of them was going to speak. Emily loses, so she turns back to you to reply. "She's a little…friendly with Hotch."

"What do you mean by friendly?" you ask, now completely confused.

Emily and JJ together explain how Natalie would always bring Hotch coffee. How Natalie always sat next to Hotch, how she angled herself towards him all the time. How she'd reach across the table just to make sure that he got an eyeful of her if he looked up. With each example of Natalie's friendliness you can feel your eyebrows rising slightly higher.

You can tell they were looking out for you, however as you pause and really think it through, you realize that you're not overly concerned. It sounded like Natalie had a little crush on Hotch, which can happen of course. Of all people, you could understand someone having a thing for him. As long as she didn't actually act on it, it was harmless.

"I'm sure it's fine, you guys. Thanks for telling me, but I trust Aaron," you tell them.

You know they're not as unconcerned as you are but they let it go as you all pull into the airplane hangar. You grab your bag and climb the steps, eager to sit down next to Aaron and tell him all about your time away (the parts of it that weren't classified at least). When you get on the plane, you see that Aaron was sat in his usual spot across from Rossi. However, your seat is conspicuously occupied by the leggy blonde intern. You catch Emily throwing a look your way as if to say _I told you so_. Suppressing your eyeroll, you take a seat on the couch next to Derek instead - you didn't want to sit across from Emily and suffer through her looks the entire plane ride.

"His loss," Derek leans in to whisper to you, throwing a quick wink in your direction.

You shake your head, a smile finally breaking out on your face.

It was a relatively short plane ride to Orlando during which the team spoke through the case details and explored the preliminary profile. You found yourself a little distracted by the way Natalie seemed to always lean across Hotch to grab the files from someone, or the way she brought back a water bottle for him when she sauntered her way to the back of the plane. Now, she was asking him if he wanted a snack - apparently he'd _love_ some pretzels if she was going to be grabbing them. You meet Emily's gaze, knowing she also saw that interaction, and you quickly look away, annoyed that you had let their words get to you. Shifting your focus back to the case, you read through the Medical Examiner's report on the two bodies that had been found, in an attempt to avoid staring at the two people who were now _sharing_ a bag of pretzels. Apparently there was a pretzel shortage.

You volunteered yourself and Derek to go talk to the witnesses once you'd landed, knowing Hotch would want to keep Reid for the geographic profile and you didn't want to risk jumping the gun and asking Rossi what was up with Natalie. Emily and JJ were simply out of the question as they kept throwing looks at you, not at all subtly. Derek really was your best option. This way you could spend the majority of the day driving around and not have to watch as Natalie's long and shapely legs strutted around as if she was walking a runway. Who was _that_ tall?

Derek - bless him - had picked up on your mood and very kindly changed the subject to your assignment and how you'd liked Paris. You'd spent a summer in Paris during college so you had spent your time off visiting old haunts and discovering new pastry shops. You'd managed to squeeze in a cooking lesson with a renowned pastry chef known for her pistachio croissants and were planning on making them when you return for the whole team. Derek was definitely excited about that.

The two of you had called in your findings throughout the day and met up with the rest of the team at the hotel lobby in the evening. You walk in to find everyone congregated together while Hotch is on a call. It looked like Natalie had been sent to fetch the room keys as you could see her speaking with the front clerk.

"I can't wait to take a shower. What's taking so long?" JJ was standing, leaning against Emily, the two of them looking worse for wear.

"What happened to you two?" Derek asks, handing you your bag that he'd carried over from the parking garage.

The two of them glance at one another and you can tell that whatever happened had to be embarrassing for at least one of them. JJ is the one to explain how they'd had to literally chase down a lead through downtown and that Emily had ended up tripping down a fire escape and falling into a compost dumpster. It seemed she hadn't taken well to JJ's teasing, as JJ was just as trash-covered and smelly as her. Your face scrunches up as you get a waft, and you quickly shift to stand across instead of next to them.

It appeared that Hotch had finished up his call as he was walking towards you, when he's intercepted by Natalie. "Sir, it seems the hotel booked us one room short and they're all out of extra space. But it should be fine. I won't mind sharing with you, if that's alright."

You are so incredibly grateful that you'd turned away from them and had only heard what she said to him. Your eyebrows are fully in your hairline and your jaw drops open. Both JJ and Emily's faces are a mirror of yours. You have to really force yourself to not turn around and react impulsively - telling her to go back to Whoresville would probably be crossing a giant professional boundary. However you might be warranted because who else would _proposition_ their boss in that manner? If she'd wanted to simply be helpful and accommodating, why not offer to bunk with one of the girls? Her voice had been far too sultry to be even remotely professional. Your teeth are quite literally biting into your tongue and you know that you'll have angry crescent shaped marks in your palms from how tightly clenched your fists have become. The sheer _audacity!_

"Ms. Scott," Hotch's voice is cool, professional, detached, "will you please step aside with me for a moment?"

You can hear the sound of her heels against the marble floor as her and Hotch walk slightly away from the rest of the group. Everyone is quiet and they're either watching you or Hotch and Natalie's interaction, which you refuse to turn and be a spectator to. It felt like giving away some power, for her to see you watching her in this moment. It was better to be entirely disengaged. You quickly schooled your face and relaxed your posture into one of unbothered indifference. They might all see through it, but so what? At least a stranger wouldn't be able to read what had happened just by the expression on your face.

"Here are everyone's room keys." Hotch arrives back with Natalie trudging behind him, and hands out keys to everyone but you. He has the key to your room in his hand. You don't look in Natalie's direction as you square your shoulders and follow Hotch's long strides down the hallway to your room. He'd kept the first floor one for the two of you, making it an easy central location for the rest of the team if need be.

"You can take first shower," you tell him, as he opens the door to your room and lets you in. They're the first words you've spoken directly to him that haven't been about the case since the briefing that morning. You can hear the slight edge in your tone and you know he can tell something is off as well.

Hotch only nods at you, before setting his bag down and heading off to the bathroom. As you hear the sound of the shower turning on, you force yourself to breathe in and out to help relax your mind and body. You're upset. You know you are. You're not sure how you feel about Natalie at the moment, aside from thinking her to be incredibly unprofessional. However you are still upset, and you come to the realization that its Hotch whom you're upset with. Hotch who had spent the past three weeks ignoring the signs of this girl's crush until it culminated in him being literally asked to bed her. _Did he really ignore it though? Or did he enjoy the attention? Attention he wasn't getting from you, that's for sure. Hard to give your boyfriend attention when you're working in an entirely different country…_

Aaron had watched you all day - from the moment you'd shown up back at work till the second you'd walked through the hotel room ahead of him. When you'd arrived that morning you'd been happy, cheerful, the promise of things to share radiating behind your gaze. He'd been happily surprised that you'd landed back ahead of schedule and even decided to hop onto the case with them. It would be nice to have you back - he'd spent the past three weeks really coming to terms with the fact that you were not on the team anymore. Sure you helped when you're around but he knew that if you got pulled into your other assignment, that would take precedence now. He didn't begrudge you that, despite how much both him and Jack missed you while you were away.

However, on the plane, you'd barely looked his way. Of course the intern girl had taken the seat next to him, and he couldn't be rude and ask his twenty one year old new employee to go sit somewhere else. Once you'd all landed, instead of sticking around the precinct you'd been away all day and he couldn't help but feel that something was off. Something had happened between the time the team had received the case and the plane ride to Florida and he couldn't possibly imagine what.

Then, of course, the intern had stepped out of line. She'd asked him to share a hotel room with her as though he wasn't her superior and it wouldn't be entirely inappropriate. Though, he had to admit, based on her body language she wouldn't mind him being inappropriate with her. He had had her step aside and explained to her that the hotel hadn't been one room short - that you and him were in a relationship and would be sharing. That what she'd said was inappropriate, however he would ignore it and pretend it didn't happen. The girl had been barely apologetic, not meeting his eyes. Instead, she had looked over at the group - at you - as though you had personally wronged her. There wasn't much to be done about that. If she continued to be this way, he'd have to ask Strauss to place her on a different team.

However, it was really you who his mind was invaded by as the two of you walked down the hallway and to the room. He hadn't had you to himself all day and he was looking forward to catching up, saying hello properly. However, the edge in your voice when you spoke gave him pause. Something was still wrong and he couldn't for the life of him imagine what it could be. Maybe something was going on with JJ or Prentiss. They had wanted to talk to you about something urgently after all.

He'd gone to take a shower, hoping that maybe all you needed was a moment to yourself, however when he exited you'd quickly brushed by him and shut the door to the bathroom behind you. He changed and got into bed, carrying the files from his bag with him. He'd made it through a reread of the Medical Examiner's report when you exited the bathroom, your towel wrapped around you. He watched, a little apprehensively, as you pulled out clothes from your bag and then unwrapped the towel from around you. Your skin was pinked all over from how much you'd scrubbed it, your hair still dripping wet. He found his eyes watching a single drop of water as it fell from your hair, trailed its way down the side of your neck, over the swell of your breasts, only to be covered by the little blush nightie that you slipped on. He hadn't seen you in three weeks and he could feel himself get uncomfortably aroused as his eyes followed the sway of your hips when you went to grab a bottle of water and then pushed yourself up onto the desk, facing him. Your face was composed as you took a small sip, your eyes unwavering in their appraisal of him.

"How long has she been flirting with you?" you finally ask, setting down the bottle of water and looking directly at him.

Aaron's face betrays his puzzlement at the question. You were undoubtedly asking about the intern but he couldn't imagine why that would even matter. "A while," he answers hesitantly. _Were you jealous?_ He couldn't imagine that to be the case - not with you and especially not over the intern.

"Why did you let it go on for so long?" Your words are accusing and yet your voice doesn't change from its even cadence.

He's unsure of what to say and ends up blurting out the first words that come to mind. "Are you jealous?" He immediately regrets even voicing the thought as your eyes flash with the promise of a reckoning.

"No. I'm upset." You take a small leap down from the desk and walk over to him, standing at the edge of the bed. "I am upset, because instead of shutting her down immediately when you noticed her behavior, you allowed it to continue to the point at which she quite literally asked you to fuck her in front of the entire team." Your voice trembles ever so slightly and your jaw is locked into place. "She must have been given quite some leeway if she felt it was alright to do that."

Aaron's not sure what to say. He had let it go on too long, but it wasn't because he enjoyed the attention. He had never been on the receiving end of such blatant advances from a relative stranger and he'd felt uncomfortable assuming anything untoward, even though he'd known. How could he not? The intern was utterly transparent.

He's quiet for a moment as he watches your hands start to fidget with the fabric of your nightgown. Had he known how upset you'd be by this, he'd have shut her down immediately. He could hear the hurt in your voice and understood the betrayal you must have felt, thinking he was somehow enjoying the attention of some young girl. That was hardly the case.

However, before he can reassure you of this, he sees you place a knee on the bed and quickly straddle him, hands on his shoulders for support. He conceals his surprise incredibly poorly. He's half hard and he knows you felt him as your eyes lock on his and you grind yourself against him torturously teasing him. Your lips meet his in a bruising, punishing kiss, teeth biting his lower lip and drawing open a moan, making way for your tongue to harshly explore him.

He instinctively moves his hands to your waist to draw you in closer, and that's when you finally move away, your eyes swirling with fury, hurt, and something else that makes a knot start to coil in his stomach.

"No." You reach down and move his hands away from your waist and up towards the headboard. "You obviously didn't miss me. You don't get to touch."

_How could you possibly think he hadn't missed you?_ He was half hard from just a look at you. He opens his mouth to contradict you, but you cover his mouth with yours again, drawing a groan from him. Pulling back, you fix him with a firm gaze. "I don't want to hear what you have to say, either."

Aaron is now impossibly hard, his pants tenting uncomfortably as his hips rut up into you. He nods, agreeing to follow your rules - for now at least. He tries to keep his hands away, focusing instead on the pleasant weight of you on top of him. The way your breasts press against him and the way the silk of your nightie feels against his stomach, causing a flurry of butterflies to explode there. Your touch tonight had been sharp, demanding, focused only on getting to whatever end you have in mind.

Your lips trailed down from his lips to his neck, biting and sucking in a way that tests every amount of self control he has. He knows you're leaving marks and is grateful that you still have the presence of mind to focus your attention to parts of him that will be covered by his shirt collar. Your hands brush his arms, his chest, his stomach - causing every muscle to tense and flex under your agonizing touch. You're slow and deliberate with your attentions, as if each kiss, each lick, each bite is designed to drive him insane.

Your hands reach the top of his waistband and he tilts up, helping you push the garment down his hips, revealing his weeping cock at full mast. You don't give him a moment's respite as you move to position yourself over him, using his shoulders as leverage. You lower yourself on him excruciatingly slow - the warm, wet, velvety feel of you encompassing him entirely. He groans, loud and deep, unable to contain himself, as you bottom out completely. You hadn't been as wet as usual and he can tell the stretch is just this side of painful for you from the wince on your face as you settle onto his lap and the way your short nails dig into his skin.

He looks down and sees how your nightgown flows around your hips, draping over his lap and covering where the two of you are connected in a manner he finds incredibly erotic. He finds himself focusing on the movement of the fabric as you push yourself up, your lips attaching themselves to a spot right on his collarbone. The need to touch you is overwhelming and he finds himself forming fists with his hands, his nails making crescent shaped marks in the skin of his palms, to keep himself from reaching out.

You're breathing heavily against his ear as you ride him and he can tell you're stifling every natural sound that's begging to be released. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction. You were only interested in chasing yours.

It won't be long for him now, not with how tight you are and how your walls have fluttered around him every time. He can feel your growing need based on the pace you're setting for yourself - you're furiously chasing your high and he can tell you won't reach it. Not without some help.

He surprises you by grabbing your face and forcing you to look at him. There are unshed tears in your eyes and the frustration is clear in your face. You open your mouth to say something - likely to tell him off for touching you. He doesn't care anymore. _Fuck the rules._

"Sweetheart, let me help, please." His voice is unbearably gentle as he speaks, his hand warm against your cheek. _But no. He didn't get to do this. He didn't get to_ \- the thought dies in your head as he kisses you - soft, gentle - a complete contrast to how you'd started the night.

You pull away, still determined to simply use him. Punish him by not letting him touch you.

He can feel the fight in your body and see the stubbornness in your posture. But he couldn't let you not finish. Not when he was so achingly close. Not when it was so desperately what you wanted. So Aaron decides to try something he never has before.

"Sweetheart, let Daddy help you."

The result is instantaneous. You still entirely. Your breath stutters. He feels your hands tremble against him. Your eyes - your eyes widen and look at him. You blink and for a second he has no idea what you're thinking. Then they open agonizingly slowly and he can see that your warm, welcoming eyes are entirely glazed over. Gone are the unshed tears, replaced by something that seems entirely, wantonly, lost.

"Daddy's going to take care of you," he repeats himself, moving his hands to circle your waist. There's no fight, no resistance. He lifts you easily and lays you down on the bed, before rolling over on top and positioning himself at your entrance. You look so pretty - soft and small under him - your eyes trained only on him and your pink lips forming a small circle. His mouth meets yours as he pushes in, drawing the first audible moan from you all night. It is like music to his ears. He reaches down on the right and finds your thigh, grabbing it to wrap around him. You instinctively mirror yourself on the other, both legs wrapped loosely around his hips as he thrusts into you.

"You take me so well, sweetheart. So good for me." His voice is like syrup, sweetly dripping down through you.

His hand reaches between your bodies and finds your clit, his thumb circling it and drawing sounds from you that he'd only had in his dreams the past three weeks.

"Such a good girl."

His other hand finds your breasts, working your nipples into tight peaks, pointing through the silk of your clothing. He can't help himself from taking one into his mouth, the fabric cool against his tongue as he licks and bites you through it. He sees your eyes roll backwards before your head tilts away from him.

You're entirely mindless, floating on a cloud ever since Aaron took control. The drag of him inside you is painfully euphoric. Every touch ignites a fire and you can feel your orgasm growing - a crescendo in your body that completely takes over as your toes curl and your back arches, pushing your breasts even more into his mouth.

You're far too sensitive as your arms cling to him, every nerve entirely aflame as he finishes within you not a moment later. His hand never lets up against your clit and as he takes your other nipple into his mouth, even through his own orgasm, you feel yourself clench once again, overwhelmed by him. Owned by him.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pleasant and welcome against your boneless body. You can feel his seed spilling out of you and you can only guess at how entirely depraved you must look. He slowly rolls off of you, pulling you with him.

Later, when you're both clean and tucked back into bed, his hands playing with your hair and your legs entangled with his, he asks softly, "Was that alright?"

You can feel his hesitancy and uncertainty, and you have to keep yourself from falling asleep against his warmth. You want to be honest with him. "It was," you say slowly. "I'm not sure if I'll ever say it, but I didn't mind you saying it." Actually saying it felt too close to admitting the very real trauma from your father's reign of terror.

He nods understandingly.

"You know that the intern doesn't mean anything, right?" he confirms. You should know that. He knows you know that.

"I do. I just, got scared for a minute. Being away is harder than I thought it would be," you admit.

He hums, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. The two of you fell asleep properly for the first time in days.

The next morning, Aaron was on a phone call with the local lead detective when you finished getting ready, so you indicated that you were headed to the breakfast bar, hoping to secure coffees and a muffin for you both. He nods and waves you off, knowing you'll fight off whomever to secure the last blueberry muffin for him.

You quickly grab two coffees and the last two blueberry muffins, before making your way to the table where the rest of the team - save for Rossi and the intern - were already sat.

"Someone had a good night." Only Emily could see through the layers of concealer on your neck.

You shake your head disapprovingly, but the large smile on your face gives you away, as both JJ and Derek join Emily in her teasing. Even Spencer joins in, if only for a moment.

You all quiet down quickly, however, as you see the intern approaching. You'd already resolved to be nothing but polite to her. She hadn't known you and Aaron were together - the two of you were relatively lowkey about the entire thing. Maybe her approach had worked for her before.

That resolve quickly crumbles as she comes to speak to you, however.

"You're not better than me, you know," Natalie spits out as she stands across from you on the other side of the table.

You have to force yourself to stay calm and not react, however your lack of an immediate reaction appears to encourage her.

"You were just like me - trying to sleep with the boss. So you don't get to sit there and think you're somehow better."

You could tell she'd spent the night researching you and Aaron - digging up any and all dirt she could on the two of you and your relationship. You look at her and there is a part of you that wants to be upset and go off on her - really put her in her place. However, you'd once been her age and in a place where you thought that was the only way to move ahead. While that might work sometimes, it had to come with boundaries. She'd crossed them.

You let out a deep breathe, knowing that the rest of them are just itching to take her down a peg but they know you'd prefer to fight your own battles.

"Natalie, you're young and impulsive. What you did yesterday was stupid. No man is worth ruining your reputation over - especially not a man who's a stranger to you."

She's quiet, surprised by what you've said and the lack of swearing and name calling involved.

"Yesterday you _propositioned_ your boss in front of people who will all one day soon be running the Bureau. You will need their help and their support in moving ahead. In their eyes, you are the intern who asked her boss to sleep with her in front of witnesses. What exactly do you think they think of you?"

You see her shrivel at your words, her posture slacking as the truth of what you're saying resonates with her.

"Now," you continue, "I will do my best to forget everything that transpired here. The day you knock on my door, it will be as though it never happened. However, I can't make promises for anyone else."

With that, you've spotted Aaron walking over, so you quickly rise and grab your drinks and muffins to meet him halfway.

Aaron sees you walk over, and takes in the quiet at the team table. The intern was standing incredibly still. He sees the her walk off to grab coffee and the team return to normal. He had a feeling Natalie Scott would have to go. He'd give her a good recommendation to any other team, but he could tell - especially going off of the daggers Prentiss was glaring in the young girl's direction - that this wasn't quite the right fit for her.

You approached him, blueberry muffin successfully in hand, your face glowing. Taking the muffin and coffee from you, he presses a quick kiss to your hairline, warmth blooming in his chest.


	39. Dinner Party

Clyde was handling another assignment so you were working out of Quantico for the time being. You'd learned really quickly that not everyone had a Penelope Garcia at their disposal and you needed to skill up fast. You'd bribed her with concert tickets and a very handsome Elliot Greenberg as her escort in exchange for teaching you the basics.

Elliot worked for the white collar crime unit in New York after the BAU rejection and had recently made the transition to Quantico for sex crimes. The two of you had kept in touch over the years and he'd hit you up when he'd moved back. He'd broken up with his girlfriend back in New York for the job - which really just told you the girlfriend hadn't mattered all that much. Elliot was smart, good looking, and doing well at work but you knew he also had a nerdy streak that Garcia would appreciate.

It was kind of fun being on the other side of a case and watching Penelope in action. You figured it would be easiest to learn on the job so you'd stayed holed up in her office and the two of you worked together with the team on a case. She taught you how to do some of the less complex stuff and you got to flirt with Hotch anytime he called for an update - it was a win-win really.

When they got back, he'd decided to have everyone be home for a week and do reports and consults to coincide with your schedule. No one was really complaining about a week of no travel.

Aaron had gotten home before you as you'd had a late afternoon meeting with McKinney to update him on your progress. When you walk in, you can smell roasted spices wafting from the kitchen. Aaron had always enjoyed foods from other cuisines but with you he'd really embraced cooking it as well, since you'd lived all over and had curated your own recipes over the years. If your nose wasn't mistaken, he was trying his hand at your Chicken Vindaloo recipe.

You walk into the kitchen to see him wearing an apron and manning the stove while Jack sits at the island doing his homework.

"Hi baby." You greet Jack and place a quick kiss to his head before going over to observe Aaron's handiwork - it smelled pretty good and he already had the rice cooker going as well. Jack mumbled a hello and you could tell something was off. You raise an eyebrow at Aaron who mouths _"Soccer_ " to you, peaking a glance backwards at Jack's head bent over his worksheets.

Aaron and you had decided to sign him up for soccer lessons, figuring it was a good age to get him into team sports and be a little more active in a structured setting. Apparently he wasn't taking it too well, though you couldn't fathom why.

You take a quick taste from the spatula that Aaron had been using to stir and add a little pinch of salt to the pan. He throws you a mock glare. "I was getting to it," he mutters, shooing you away.

You leave him to the cooking and go sit at the island by Jack. Grabbing a tangerine from the fruitbowl, you peel it and break off a piece. "Orange for your thoughts?" you ask Jack.

You can see him hesitate but he still reaches out for the small slice, putting his pencil down. "I don't want to do Soccer," he confesses, reaching for another piece. Aaron's back is turned and he appears to be bustling around the kitchen.

"What part of it do you not want to do?" You pop a piece of tangerine into your own mouth as well.

He seems to consider your question as he chews on another piece. "It seems messy and the other kids seem mean."

You and Aaron had taken Jack by the soccer field a couple of weeks ago and you realize he's referring to the mud covered kids all pushing one another. Jack was a sweet and sensitive kid and you could understand how that was maybe a stressful situation for him. But you also wanted him to give it a shot because it would be good to do some team activities - help him make some more friends and be more active.

"It does seem kind of messy," you agree. "But I don't think the other kids will be mean. You're good at making friends and as long as you're nice to them they'll be nice to you."

He thinks over your response and you know you can seal the deal. "If you don't like it after you give it a fair shot, then we can discuss. Is that okay?" Jack was a reasonable kid and you and Aaron tried to give him choices as much as possible.

"Okay, Y/N." Jack nods, grabbing the last piece of tangerine from your palm.

"You know," you lean in a bit to Jack, lowering your voice, "your family has a special history with soccer fields."

"We do?" He quirks an eyebrow at you and he looks so much like Aaron in that moment. The cheeks are all Haley but the expression is completely Aaron.

"Well, you know how your parents met, of course," you confirm with mock seriousness.

Jack smiles and nods. "Pirate #4"

You laugh, ruffling Jack's hair. Aaron had kept his word to Haley and he did his best to make her a part of Jack's life as much as you could. But you had a feeling this wasn't a story Jack knew yet.

Jack had been obsessed with all of the Disney movies lately so you know he'd appreciate a good romance story.

"Yes, your parents met during the play. But your dad was quite the young soccer star when he was in high school." You look and see that Aaron is adding the finishing touches to dinner and undoubtedly listening in. Jack has turned fully to face you, bringing his chair a little bit closer to yours.

"Well, your mom started to go watch him practice and go to his games. After a game where your dad scored the winning goal," you pause as Jack hangs on every word, "they were hanging out on the field and your dad finally plucked up the courage and asked your mom to be his girlfriend."

"That's pretty cool, I guess." He smiles, turning to look at his dad. "But not as cool as Buttercup and Wesley. Can we watch The Princess Bride again after dinner?"

You and Aaron laugh as he nods and tells Jack to go get washed up for dinner. The three of you had already watched The Princess Bride a couple of times and Aaron insisted that Inigo Montoya looked exactly like his old boss, Gideon. He'd pulled up pictures to show you, but you just didn't see it. It was probably the longest argument the two of you had had in recent memory.

As Jack leaves, Aaron turns to look at you, his face identical to Jack's from earlier, eyebrow quirked just the same. You know he's wondering how you knew that story about him and Haley because it sure hadn't been from him.

"Jess and I bonded while you were gone," you explained with a small smile. "He should know your love story."

Aaron nods as you get up to get changed for dinner yourself. He adores that you go above and beyond to make sure that Jack feels connected to Haley. Sometimes, though, he worries that you end up minimizing your role in his and Jack's life in the process.

As far as Aaron was concerned, Jack got to be witness to his favorite love story.

*------------*

With the whole team at home base for the coming week, you and Aaron decided to host the long postponed dinner party that you had initially aimed to have as your relationship reveal party. Between the team jumping the gun on you and then all of the work and cases, it had gotten pushed back indefinitely. However, now seemed like the right time to do it. You'd planned it for the end of the week when both Henry and Jack were invited to a birthday sleepover and all of the adults had the next day off.

Emily, Derek, and Penelope were all bringing dates. Rossi was seeing Strauss but knew better than to invite her to a team thing. You still remembered worming that particular secret out of Aaron. You had known something was up when you'd happened to catch his face when Rossi told him. You'd been too far to actually hear what caused that face, so you'd brought it up later. In his defense, he'd valiantly tried to protect Rossi's secret, but you had your ways. When he'd finally given in and told you, you regretted having tried so hard to get it out of him. Rossi and Strauss. Just the thought of it made you shudder.

However, with that large of a group, you decided to get some outside help, though you'd still make dessert. You'd left for lunch to go meet with the caterer, taking Rossi along with you since he'd actually be helpful. Aaron was in some budget meetings through lunch anyways and you'd grabbed him a salad on the way back. You thanked Rossi for joining you and he took Aaron's food up with him as you turned to see Derek and Emily hanging out by her desk.

"Hey, so what'd Hotch mess up?" Derek asks as he sees you.

You're confused for a second as to what he means but then you catch sight of the large bouquet of flowers on your desk. Your heart stops. You recognize that arrangement - the ostentatious roses arranged artfully. You'd forgotten what day it was. After he missed last year, you'd thought he'd forgotten - that he'd moved past it finally. This was the first time they'd arrived at the office. Usually it was sent to your home so you could deal with it in private.

You approach your desk not bothering to look for a note. Quickly, you pick them up and place the bouquet in your trash can, in the hope that no one else would see them. Both Derek and Emily eye you curiously.

You have to make sure your voice will come out steadily before you speak. "They're not from Aaron."

You hope they'll just go back to their conversation as you sit down in your chair, your mind whirling. You'd have to deal with this situation. Him sending them to work was an obvious escalation and to what end, you couldn't be sure.

From the corner of your eye, you see Derek stand from his spot on Emily's desk. He walks towards you with purpose and before you can stop him, he's reached into the trash can and fished out the note.

"Matthew? He's sending you _flowers_?" His voice is low and he looks troubled, holding the note in his hands and taking a seat on your desk instead. Seemed like him and Emily had decided he'd deal with it, as she was conspicuously missing, leaving just you and Derek in the bullpen.

You sigh internally. It had been too much to hope that they would've just ignored it. "It's our anniversary," you explain, looking around and making sure there wasn't anyone else around. "He didn't take the break up well. Now he sends flowers every year to torture me - though usually he's tactful enough to send them to the house."

Your revelation does nothing to ease Derek's mind. If anything he looks even more worried now than before. "So he's escalating. Trying to get your attention."

"He's not going to actually do anything," you say, trying to sound reassuring. "I can handle it, Derek." You place a hand on his knee closest to you and look firmly up at him. The last thing you needed was for Derek to be all worried and nosey about the situation. Or worse, for him to tell… "Do not tell Aaron."

He looks at you as though you're stupid and you can tell he's going to argue with you, but you really don't want to bother Aaron with this. Not in the one week you guys have at home together. "I mean it, Derek. He has a thousand other things to worry about. My sociopath ex does not need to be one of them."

Derek frowns and you know he's racing through the thousand cases you guys have done on stalker exes and escalation. Luckily for you, Matthew was too lazy to actually stalk anyone. Unluckily, he still found the time to order you flowers to remind you that he'd once been a very large part of your life. You didn't even like roses. With a glance up to Hotch's office, Derek nods, knowing he won't be able to convince you otherwise right now. He drops the note back into the trash can as Emily returns and you all go back to pretending to work.

It's late afternoon when you hear Hotch calling your name from the upstairs landing. "Y/N, can you come up here please?"

You'd gotten very little done, your mind whirling with what to do about the Matthew situation. You just wanted it to be over. You briefly wonder if Aaron wants to talk about the meeting with the caterers or Jack's schedule for the following week when the two of you will both be away. You enter his office, closing the door behind you.

"Hey, what's going on?" You walk in and take a seat on his couch. The blinds facing the bullpen are closed, but the ones facing outside are open, casting a warm glow around the room. Curiously, he hasn't moved back to his desk and is standing in front of you, with a concerned look on his face.

"When were you going to tell me about the Matthew situation?" he asks, placing his left hand on his hip and looking every bit the part of SSA Aaron Hotchner instead of your boyfriend.

You let out a breath. You couldn't _believe_ Derek had told him, after you'd specifically asked him not to. And now he had that furrowed brow and the concerned face and he has a deadline from Strauss on the new budget. This wasn't what he needed right now and you knew it would distract from everything else.

You grit your teeth and stand up, ignoring his voice, and open the door to his office to scan the bullpen until you catch sight of who you're looking for. "Agent Morgan," you call out, "could you please join us up here?"

Derek looks up at you before he quickly walks upstairs and enters Hotch's office. He goes and stands by Hotch while you close the door once again, undoubtedly knowing what this was about. The two of them made quite the image - frowns marring both of their faces though Aaron's was less pronounced. _I knew moisturizing was a good call._

Squaring your shoulders, you cross your arms across your chest, facing the two of them. "Figured it was more efficient to just talk to you both together. Save you the trouble of finding each other afterwards," you say, your tone hinting at how annoyed you were. Not that either one of them had the decency to look ashamed. If anything they looked defiant.

Aaron started to speak but you cut him off.

"You two need to realize that I can handle my own problems. If I say Matthew isn't an issue, trust me. If I say I have it handled, believe me that I do."

"No." You expected that, but not from Derek. Maybe from Aaron, but not from Derek.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, no. Not with our jobs. Not knowing what we do. I'll tell Hotch, I'll tell the whole team. The more people on the lookout the better."

"I -"

"Morgan's right. So, let's figure out what to do."

"There's nothing _to_ do. He sent flowers, not a bomb. Leave it alone. If the worst thing he does is send me flowers once a year - well people have dealt with worse. You're both overreacting."

"You expect us to do nothing? What about when he escalates?"

"He won't!"

"You can't possibly know that." His entire demeanor is stiff and tense and he's aggravated with you for not taking this as seriously as he is.

"I was with him for four years, Aaron. Trust me. I know him. He has nothing to gain from an escalation and everything to lose. He's married, he doesn't exactly want me back. He just hates that I dumped him and once a year he remembers that and gets pissed off and drunk and in his own passive aggressive way, chooses to do this. It's not worth any of us wasting a second more of our time on!"

Derek looks like he'd rather be anywhere but standing in the middle of the two of you at that moment.

Aaron breathes out slowly before he speaks, as though if he takes a moment it'll prevent him from shaking you into seeing it his way. "I still would like for the team to be on alert. Just in case." It would appear he'd decided on the reasonable approach.

You groan, but know that's the best you're about to get. At your nod, Aaron and Derek exchange a look before Derek moves to leave the room.

"Hey," you stop him as his hand touches the doorknob. "Next time I ask you to not tell my crazy, overprotective boyfriend something. Just don't."

He grimly shakes his head at you. "No promises."

You narrow your eyes at him. The two of you will be discussing this later.

Turning away from you, he nods at Hotch before opening the door and closing it behind him.

Aaron sighs before sitting down on the couch next to you. "Why wouldn't you just tell me?" he asks, as though he's afraid of the answer.

You know he's genuinely worried about you and grasping at the implication of you not telling him about this. You reach across the couch cushion and grab his hand, squeezing it. His fingers intertwine with yours instantly. 

"Aaron, if I thought - for even a second- that this was some sort of actual threat, you'd be the first person I'd tell."

Which was the truth. If there was any chance that Matthew was a threat to Aaron or Jack, you'd have told him immediately. As it stood, however, your ex boyfriend was nothing more than a coward who got off on his little annual psychological warfare.

He nods, his mouth a straight line.

You spend a few more minutes in his office reassuring him properly _(How convenient that the blinds were already shut)_ , before leaving him to finish up the rest of his work.

*------------*

Derek watches from the bullpen as you exit Hotch's office, not a hair out of place, though he could imagine that hadn't been the case a minute earlier. He sees your eyes dart around furtively before making a quick phone call. You say barely two words before hanging up.

*------------*

Ricky Costello had the self-assured charm of a boy who had never questioned his place in life. He'd grown up scrawny and had to learn how to fight and stand up for himself. As he'd grown older and filled out some, people knew better than to pick on him or anyone he was friends with. He was loyal, headstrong, and the smartest of the family - which is why his father had pulled some strings and gotten him into a good school where he could learn something and be of some use to the family.

You'd met Ricky in your accounting class when he'd tried to partner with you for a project, thinking you'd do all the work for him. He'd had to rethink that strategy when you'd shown up at his dorm room, pretended to be his girlfriend to get rid of his flavor of the week, and then promised to continue ruining his chances with every gullible freshman unless he did his share of the work. Needless to say, the two of you had the best project in the class.

You arrived at the bar he'd texted you the address to. It was in a quiet street just off central downtown and at six in the evening, there were only commuters headed back home. No one paid much attention to you as you quickly looked around before entering.

The place was mostly empty save for an older couple seated at a table in the corner. You see Ricky seated at the bar and you make your way towards him. Feeling someone approach, he turns around, a grin breaking out on his face when he sees you.

"Hi Doll," he stands and wraps you in a hug that lifts you off the ground and elicits a small squeal of surprise.

"Hi Ricky." Your face lights up at the sight of him. It had been a while.

He indicates to the bartender for another round, before guiding you to a small table at the other corner of the bar. He pulls out a chair for you as the bartender sets down two glasses of scotch.

"Cheers," he says, lifting his glass and clinking it with yours. "To seeing old friends."

"Cheers," you smile, taking a sip, your eyes studying him. He looked older, the beginnings of grey could be seen near his temples. His leather jacket hugged him just right and he'd grown out his usual stubble into a full, well-kept beard. His smile was still very much him - a little cocky and every bit as affectionate as you remembered it.

The two of you drink for a while as he catches you up on all the drama your old group had gone through recently - the weddings, the breakups, the kids. It was odd to have missed out on all of it.

"So, tell me, why'd you really call?" he asks, leaning back in his chair, his hand playing with the rim of his glass.

You take a breath, mimicking his posture. "Matthew is planning on running for Congress."

He takes in your pursed lips and the tenseness of your shoulders. "I heard," he says slowly, deliberately. "Been meaning to pay him a visit. Congratulate him."

"Congratulate him for me too."

The quirk of his lips tells you he knows why you're telling him this. There was no love lost between Matthew and Ricky. If they were in the same room they were bound to get into it. You'd done your best to keep them sequestered in different parts of your life - however some events were inevitably meant for larger groups.

He nods with a soft laugh, before indicating to the bartender for a second round, which is delivered promptly.

"You should come back, Y/N. Give up the straight laced thing. The crew, we miss you, doll." His voice is earnest and for a moment you see the hint of the boy who'd confided all his secrets to you during study sessions that had bled into the early morning hours.

You smile, and your voice catches ever so slightly. "I've met someone - and well, he's pretty much as straight laced as they come."

Ricky laughs at that and you know he's just a little surprised. "What's his name?"

"Aaron." His name feels right at home in your mouth.

"Nice Catholic boy?" His face is one of boyish teasing.

"I always did have a thing for those," you joke. And you know, you know Ricky will take that in the friendly manner that it was meant.

The two of you wrap up and Ricky closes out the tab before walking you back to your car. As you're about to pull out of the parking spot, he leans into your window, placing the lightest of kisses to your cheek.

"Tell your boy Aaron, he's the luckiest guy in the world."

*------------*

You hear the front door open and close as Aaron arrives, having dropped Jack off at the birthday party sleepover he was invited. You'd spent the day making sure you'd made enough tiramisu for all the guests while both Jack and Aaron snuck bites of it when your back was turned.

You've just finished dusting off the final pan with cocoa powder, when you feel Aaron's arms circle your waist from behind. You have to slap his hand away as it makes its way into the dessert. Him and Jack had polished off half a pan that morning and at this rate, you'd have none left for the actual guests.

"You can't eat all of the dessert before the guests get here. At this rate, you're pretty much cut off from it entirely. I don't think I can make it again if you and Jack are going to be like this," you scold, turning and poking at his stomach.

He doesn't have the decency to look even a little embarrassed. He just smiles and shrugs, his arms encircling your waist again. "I'll just have to find something else to eat instead, I guess."

His words send a spike of heat and desire through you. The two of you had been making the most of being home at the same time and every night had ended with him between your legs - one way or another.

Shaking your head, you escape his hold and move to clear the island for the caterers. He was relentless, however.

"You expect to wear this and have me keep my hands to myself?" His voice is a deep rumble behind you as his arms cage you against the island countertop and his mouth finds your pulse point. He's referring to the off shoulder dress you'd changed into while he'd been gone, highlighting your collarbone magnificently. It flared out from the waist, making you look like the epitome of the perfect housewife you had once been destined to become.

"I'd hoped you'd at least wait till the end of the night," you retort. His arms are warm and his chest firm behind you and you really didn't have it in you to push him away again. You were pretty helpless against him.

"I always like to get a head start." You can hear the humor in his voice as he pushes you against the counter a little more firmly, his arms coming from around you to clear the space right in front.

"Aaron." His name escapes you with a soft sigh as he plants warm kisses along your neck down to your exposed shoulders. He sweeps your hair to the front, lips traveling down your spine as his hands move underneath your dress, finding the waistband of your underwear and then slipping inside to find you wet, warm, and waiting for him.

He lets out a groan at the feel of you and can't help but grind himself against you. He knows he's working against the clock and is surprised you've let him get this far.

You let out a sharp gasp as his thumb presses against your clit and he inserts two fingers deep within you. He had the art of getting you to come, down to a near science. He quickly pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit in repeated circles. With his other hand he brings your head around and captures your lips. The press of his lips against yours is a feeling you'll never tire of you.

You come embarrassingly quick, fluttering around his fingers, your back arched and your ass grinding into his hard length behind you. He turns you around, his mouth hot and needy against yours. When you pull away, his eyes are blown wide and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the exertion of keeping himself from simply plowing into you.

You make quick work of his belt buckle and help him work his jeans and underwear down, eager to have him in you. With one eye on the clock behind you, he hoists you up to the countertop, placing you on the edge, and enters you swiftly, eliciting a loud groan from you.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Always so ready for me. Always tight…wet." His voice is rough and low and makes the coil in your stomach tighter and your breath come out harsher. He moves efficiently, his head tucked into the crook of your neck and his arms working to keep you balanced on the edge.

His breath is warm against your neck, and he's panting and leave wet open kisses to any skin available to him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you. You're close and you know he is too based on how irregular his movement is becoming.

You remove one hand from his shoulder, pulling on his hair to move his head enough to reach his mouth in a lazy kiss. He groans into your mouth as he comes, drawing your orgasm out right after, causing you to tremble against him.

As you come down, you're entirely slumped against his chest and he's moved you to sit more firmly on the island. You know you look nowhere near as presentable as you did fifteen minutes prior, but you're finding it hard to be too upset about it.

Still, you can't help but be a little bratty about it. "I'm going to have to redo my makeup," you whine against him.

Laughing breathlessly, he picks you up to carry you upstairs. It was a wonder he had the strength to do that right after. You could barely stand up when he deposited you outside the shower.

The two of you work quickly to get cleaned up and Aaron is the one to let the caterers in as you redo your hair and makeup. You fish out another dress - one with sleeves and a higher neckline. You couldn't afford to be pulled into the coat closet with people around.

*------------*

An hour and a half later, the party is in full swing. Emily had brought Henry Eastwood - Senator Williams's Chief of Staff. The two of you had run into him while out shopping a few weeks back and having recognized you, had come up to say hello. You had a feeling that had Emily not been with you, he would've entirely ignored some girl his boss had dated for a few weeks a year or so ago. However, you couldn't deny that they made a handsome couple.

Penelope had brought Elliot - the two of them had really hit it off and you were happy to see her smiling and laughing with someone. You'd given in and allowed Rossi to bring Strauss and you were pleasantly surprised to see her being on her best behavior around Aaron. Derek had brought Savannah and they were talking to JJ and Will.

You walked to the kitchen to open up another bottle of wine and refill everyone's glasses. It seemed Savannah had followed you, empty glass in hand. Laughing, you top off her glass with the almost empty bottle in hand, before opening the next one.

"Thanks for having everyone over," she says, taking a drink from her glass.

"Of course. Aaron and I honestly meant to do this ages ago, but work got away from us."

You have a feeling Savannah wants to talk to you about something else, however, so you don't say much more, trying to give her the chance to speak up.

She looks around a little nervously, but seems to make up her mind. "You're different for Derek, you know. Different from Emily and Penelope. He's very protective of you."

"I'm protective of him too," you respond softly. You know what she means however. You and Derek had gone through the worst thing in the world together and only came out the other end because of one other.

"Savannah, you have nothing to worry about," you reassure her, knowing that's what she really needed at the moment. Her and Derek hadn't had much time together lately and you could understand feeling insecure. "Derek loves you and you're good for him. You challenge him and you're the first girl I've seen him be so head over heels for."

She smiles and you know that helped a bit. "Thanks."

The two of you each grab a bottle and head back to the main living room. As you pour more wine into Dave's glass, you catch Aaron's eye and you feel warmth pooling in your stomach, the promise of a good night ahead of you. You walk around the room and top off everyone, making sure there's enough appetizers still out.

Derek offers to help you carry back the empty platters and follows you into the kitchen. "So, I heard something interesting today," he says, placing the platters on the counter.

You hum, as you grab more of the stuffed mushrooms from the warmer and arrange them on the empty platter.

"Cops responded to a call about a break in in New Hampshire, placed by someone's neighbor," he pauses and he knows you're listening. "When they get there, guy living in the house was obviously beat up, but his wife seemed alright. Just a little shaken up. Funny thing is - dude refused to press charges, even though cops could tell that the house had been broken into."

Your posture has gotten incredibly stiff as he spoke. _He knows_. You don't say anything, simply look at him apprehensively.

"Tell me," he continues, "what's the Italian mob's going rate to put the fear of God in someone?"

You take a breath, before meeting his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't. Probably get the friends and family discount," he trails off, grabbing the platter and walking out of the kitchen.

_Crap_. He really did know. He knew about Ricky. Which meant he'd probably gotten Penelope involved as well.

Quickly composing yourself, you carry the other platter out, joining him by the appetizer table.

"Derek - "

"Don't worry. Garcia won't say anything."

You look at him, and you know he won't either.

"Thank you."

He nods, popping another mushroom in his mouth and smiling at you. He wouldn't be doubting you again when you said you had something under control.

He wouldn't tell anyone. When Hotch asks him later about the Matthew situation, all he'd say was that it was handled. Hotch would pause, look at him, but then trust Morgan to know that it was really handled.


	40. New York

You'd spent four weeks on and off in a cramped apartment in Paris with only Clyde for company when you swapped shifts. The two of you were becoming very comfortable with one another, and to his credit he had yet to try and make any sort of move.

The surveillance you were running was a long term operation, so you found yourself with an excess of time with nothing to do. You had mounted a punching bag to the ceiling so you could stay in shape. Derek would kill you if you spent four weeks eating nothing but croissants and undid all of your (his) hardwork.

In your time off, you lived out of a hotel room. You'd debated simply buying a property in Paris to replace the one you'd handed off to your mother, and had even spent two long afternoons with a realtor. However, you found yourself really wishing Aaron was around to help you pick the one - any place you got now would really be meant for the two of you. _Maybe Christmas in Paris with Jack so that the three of us can find a place we all like. Something away from the tourist traps - in the_ _Trocadéro perhaps, something with a balcony._

You video called Aaron and Jack any spare moment you had, in between your visits back home every ten days or so. You swore Jack looked bigger between each visit. If Aaron was anything to go by, you were convinced Jack would be taller than you any day now. Aaron had pointed out that you were just exceptionally short, before lifting you with ease and throwing you onto the bed.

Clyde was prepping another round of surveillance but could tell you were as close to burnt out as possible, so had recruited another agent at Interpol under him, to take the next couple of weeks. He'd seen you off to the airport with strict instructions to recuperate and come back with your head in the game.

You arrived back home to an empty house. Jess and Andrew had taken the kids to the lake house to catch the last bit of summer, which you'd only remembered once you were already halfway across the Atlantic. Had you remembered earlier you would've swapped with Clyde and taken off a week when Jack would be home as well. As it was, you spent your first couple of hours doing laundry and repacking a new go bag. Aaron was flying back from a case in North Carolina and would be arriving later that night.

After showering and changing into loungewear, you slipped on Aaron's old law school hoodie (which pretty permanently lived in your side of the closet) before going back downstairs to put something together for dinner. With all three of you gone for the past few days, the groceries were meager. You debated running out to the store but if Jack was gone and you and Aaron got called in on a case the next day, that would be a waste. Settling for defrosting one of the lasagnas you'd made the last time you'd been back, you ended up snacking on Jack's fruit gummies in the meantime.

When Aaron got home, you were asleep on the couch with a blanket covering you. He carefully walked past the foyer and went upstairs to shower and change. You'd finished the laundry it would appear so at least he had fresh clothes to choose from and pack his own go bag. When he got back downstairs, you stirred slightly, catching sight of him dressed in pajamas with his hair still wet from the shower.

"Hey." Your voice was soft and sleepy and you made no effort to get up from the couch. Instead, you opened your arms, raising the blanket with you. Aaron smiles just slightly, before quickly joining you on the couch, his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. He mumbles a hello against your breasts, gently nuzzling while your legs entangle with his and you bring the blanket around to cover him as well.

"Are you hungry?" you ask. You'd been waiting on him to come home before you would actually put the food in the oven. You'd eaten two packs of the fruit gummies and a handful of almonds before exhaustion from the time difference had caught up with you and you hadn't been able to resist laying down on the couch with the late afternoon sun warming you up.

He shakes his head at your question. The team had grabbed food before boarding the plane and eating felt like too much effort. You're soft and warm against him and he finds himself drifting away to the feel of your fingers running through his damp hair, your other arm wrapped around the top of his shoulders.

"Was it a bad case?" Your question is hesitant, as if you're not certain if he'd want to talk about it yet if it was.

He tilts his head up to look at you, meeting your warm regard. "Aren't they all?" he manages with a grimace. He hadn't wanted to complain to you right then, but you also knew. If the team was there at all, nothing good was happening. No case was ever really good.

"I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head. Talking wouldn't do much.

You lean down, your lips just barely reaching his forehead before grazing against him.

He takes in a small breath before turning back. You feel the press of his lips against your chest and his hands drawing circles along your waist and stomach. He takes a deeper breath, letting himself be held by you.

*------------*

You had a morning meeting with McKinney to update him on the progress being made on the case with Interpol. He'd been please with everything you reported and brought up a few things he wanted you to consider.

"Agent Hotchner has been many things in your life - a boss, a mentor, and now the two of you are in a relationship. There will come a time where you have to make some concrete choices about the future and choose which roles you'd like for him to keep."

"Are you and your ex-wife still friends?" you ask.

McKinney seems surprised by your question, but he nods nonetheless. "We are, yes. For our daughter's sake."

"Same for me and Aaron. He doesn't need to be my boss or my boyfriend. But he'll always have to be my friend because of Jack." Not that you could even fathom a future without Aaron in it, but were it to ever happen you knew that you and Aaron would forever be in each other's lives. For Jack.

He nods understandingly. The two of you had formed enough of a relationship for him to understand that you were as ready as you ever would be to make the move more permanent.

"I'll sign off on some paperwork and have you designated as a temporary consult for the BAU then. I'm assuming you'll still want to participate in cases when you can."

"Yes, thank you sir."

When you got to the bullpen, it was to find it nearly empty with only Spencer, and even he appeared to be leaving.

"Hey, where is everyone?"

"Got a case. Need to ask Garcia to run something. Emily, JJ, and Morgan left already because she forgot her go bag," Spencer explained as he hurriedly grabbed his own stuff and made his way to the elevators. "Hotch should be in his office, still," he throws over his shoulder as he walks off.

"Thanks Spence."

You quickly make your way upstairs and knock on Aaron's office door before entering. He's seated in his chair, making a phone call, but gestures you in as you close the door behind you. You walk to his side of the desk and make yourself at home on his lap, your arm wrapped around his shoulders. He's obviously not very happy with whoever is on the other end but still smiles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you steady.

If everyone was going on a case, you didn't want to sit at home and do nothing. Surveillance in Paris had been boring and you needed something mentally stimulating. "Can I come on the case?" you whisper, your other hand resting on his chest.

He quirks an eyebrow at you. He had thought you'd use the week off to properly rest. However he ends up simply nodding. He knew you wouldn't do well at home with neither him nor Jack around. You'd probably end up finding some sort of project that would exhaust you. He'd just have you take it easy during the case.

Aaron hangs up with a frustrated sigh. He puts his phone down on his desk, bringing both arms to wrap around you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, shifting to face him better

"There is not a single hotel in the city with more than two rooms available," he explains. He'd been on the phone since the briefing ended and he'd had absolutely no luck.

You realized you had no actual information on the case at all. "Where are you looking?"

"New York."

"Like, New York, New York? We finally have a case in Manhattan?" Your face lights up. In all your time with the team, you'd never had a case in the city. Since your life had pretty much revolved around work for the past few years, you hadn't been back since your first holidays at the Bureau.

"Yes," Aaron smiles at your obvious excitement. He knew you had a special connection to New York. "And absolutely nowhere to stay, so we'll all really get to enjoy the Big Apple at night from the streets."

You laugh at his dramatics. "We can just stay at my place."

"Your place? You still have it?" he questions, his head tilting in confusion. You hadn't lived there in years, he couldn't imagine why you'd maintained a residence there.

"Yeah, I never bothered selling, and its big enough," you reply, shrugging your shoulders.

_Of course you had a place big enough in Manhattan to comfortably host seven people._ Aaron had to resist an eyeroll. He was really starting to do that a lot more and Prentiss had called him out on it, saying it looked unnatural on his face.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll make some calls," you reply, placing a quick kiss to his cheek before standing to head to the airport. "You can brief me on the case on the way. I have no idea what I'm walking into."

The two of you grab Rossi and Reid (with a quick hello for Penelope along with a delivery of croissants) and make your way to the airport. The three of them together fill you in on the details of the case. New York had had a rash of arson cases across the city and each time they'd uncovered bodies - male and female - tied up ang gagged. By the time firefighters arrived and put out the fires, the bodies were half burnt, however the Medical Examiner's report revealed that the victims had been alive at the time of the fire. Most of them had died from asphyxiation and smoke in their lungs before the fire ever got to them.

Apparently Emily had been a total disaster magnet, as her go bag hadn't been at her house either. She'd had to pack an entirely new bag while Derek and JJ waited for her, so the rest of you had managed to make it onto the plane before them. When they finally arrive - with Emily throwing apologies all around and grabbing a croissant from the box you'd left in the middle for everyone - the plane finally takes off.

"How many pastries did you eat every day?" Derek asks disapprovingly, poking at your stomach as he settles in across from you.

_Damn it._ You'd hope he wouldn't notice. "I told you," you muttered to Aaron, who only shakes his head. You'd lamented the fact that your six pack was turning into a four pack that morning while the two of you had gotten ready for work. He'd tried reassuring you that you were still in good shape and a few pastries weren't going to kill you. _But what did he know?_ He managed to go on a run once in a blue moon and still look great.

For his part, Aaron had noticed of course that you were the teensiest bit softer from a whole month in Paris, but he didn't mind at all. A little more to hold and most of the weight had gone right to your ass so he really wasn't complaining at all. Plus, Aaron Hotchner was a smart man. He wasn't about to be the one to tell his girlfriend that she'd gained maybe five pounds from a month in Paris, surrounded by her favorite food and stuck in an apartment with very little to do.

"Probably a few too many," you admit guiltily. "Wanna work out again once we're back?" You figured you might as well put that out there so he'll be nicer to you.

"Yeah, but we aren't waiting till we get back. You and I are going on a run. Early tomorrow morning." His voice is full of threat of bad things to come if you complain, so you nod meekly, knowing you're in for a heck of a workout if he has anything to say about it.

"I can't believe you let him say that to you," Emily remarks, stuffing a second croissant into her mouth, looking every bit the picture of perfection.

You laugh. Derek wasn't being intentionally mean. "I told him he has to be mean to me," you explain. "Otherwise I'll just let it slide and do the bare minimum to pass the physical exam. Honestly I didn't even eat that many pastries and if I had been doing cases like normal here I would've been fine. Sitting in an apartment all day long is killer."

They all agree with you - no one enjoyed surveillance cases. The team chats a bit more about Paris, the case, and what everyone had been up to while you were away.

"Wait, Derek, I almost forgot, when're you going to ask Savannah?" You turn to Derek, eager to know what he'd decided for his proposal to Savannah. Him and Penelope had gone to pick out the ring a few weeks back, video calling you during, and he'd managed to pick out a gorgeous ring for her.

"Our anniversary is coming up, so probably the day right before if we're free. That way we can celebrate the actual anniversary properly," he says, waggling his eyebrows.

You laugh. "Well, just make sure it's the kind of proposal she'll like. Nothing big and public."

"Yeah, probably just the two of us actually. I'm planning on picking her up from work and taking her to that new property I've been working on to show her properly," he says. Derek had shown you all photos of the place that he was remodeling and you knew it was his vision of his forever home. The fact that he was choosing to propose to Savannah there spoke volumes.

"That's actually cute," Emily remarks, impressed that he'd managed to put together something that wasn't entirely cringe inducing.

"Hey don't sound too surprised." The two of them rib at each for a bit as you watch fondly. You'd missed this.

"What was your first proposal like?" Emily asks, turning away from Derek and glancing quickly at Hotch beside you, bent over a stack of paperwork as usual. However by now, you all know that that means nothing - he hears everything.

Aaron listens in as you tell Emily about how Matthew had proposed at Thanksgiving your last year of college, in front of everyone. He cringes internally, knowing that definitely was not your style. You'd want it to be private - something special that only you could have. He has a hard time not looking up at the baggage stowaway where a small box has sat, hidden in a pair of socks he never wears, just waiting for the right moment.

"You should've dumped him in public - revenge for the public proposal," Emily says, a dark smile marring her face.

"I pretty much had to," you reply. "I broke up with him earlier in private, returned the ring and everything. But he found me, out at a bar later and went totally ballistic, accusing me of all sorts of things. My friend Ricky ended up punching him in the face."

Aaron chuckles, looking up finally and revealing that he had, of course, been listening the whole time. "I think I'd like this Ricky kid." Anyone punching Matthew in the face was good in his book.

You share a look with Derek and there's a smirk dancing at his lips. He knew exactly who Ricky was.

Smiling, you lean into Aaron ever so slightly. "I think you would too."

You'd felt him tense earlier as you told Emily about Matthew's proposal - you weren't sure if it was because of Matthew or the proposal. You'd had to resist peaking over at him while you spoke with Emily, knowing he'd notice that for sure. You didn't want to send the wrong impression. Not that you were expecting a proposal anytime soon. It hadn't even been a whole year since the two of you were together, and with Aaron, you weren't sure if a proposal was coming at all.

You knew if you voiced this to Emily or anyone, they'd tell you were crazy. That of course Hotch wanted to marry you - how could you think he wouldn't. But Aaron had already done the marriage thing and it hadn't gone so well. After Haley, you were surprised he wanted to risk his heart again at all. Your relationship was already more than you could have ever imagined or hoped for. You didn't need to be married to him if that wasn't something he could give to you. He'd already given enough.

You looked across the aisle and saw that JJ looked a little pale. She hadn't grabbed a croissant like everyone else, which was fine of course. However she also had an unopened bag of Cheetos in front of her and that was definitely not normal. The plane gets some turbulence and her hands fly to her mouth. The next second she's up and rushing to the bathroom.

You share a look with Emily. That definitely wasn't normal. The two of you get up and walk towards the back of the plane to wait for her.

As JJ exits, you hand her a bottle of water which she accepts gratefully.

"Are you okay?" Emily asks, reaching out to smooth her hair in place.

JJ looks apprehensively between the two of you before nodding. "Yeah," her voice is soft as if she's trying not to be overheard. However something passes over her face and you can see her steel herself. Raising her voice, she draws the attention of everyone on the plane. "Actually I have some news to share. I'm pregnant," she announces, smiling slightly.

"Oh my goodness, congratulations." Emily quickly wraps her into a hug.

You hug her next as the three of you walk back to your seats and everyone else also congratulates her. Rossi kisses both her cheeks and tells her he's excited for a new bambino in the family.

You settle back down into your seat next to Aaron as everyone pulls JJ into baby talk. Aaron's hand finds its way to yours, intertwining your fingers together and giving you a light squeeze.

You look over at him and he's giving you a look. The look that asks, _Are you alright?_

You glance towards JJ and smile, before looking back at him. _I'm not going to fall apart because JJ is pregnant and I'm not. I'm alright._ He can read your looks well enough by now.

He nods hesitantly but doesn't push the matter. The two of you weren't even trying for a baby but Aaron felt a dull ache in his chest at the subject on your behalf. He worried that it affected you more than you let on, despite how you engaged with JJ and asked her when she was due and started discussing throwing her a baby shower with Emily.

He keeps his hand intertwined with yours the rest of the plane ride.

*------------*

Hotch assigns out roles to everyone - sending Prentiss and Morgan to the latest crime site and Reid starts working on a geographic profile while Rossi and JJ go to speak with the victims' families. He keeps you with him at the precinct to go meet with the lead detective on the case.

You'd made a phone call on the car ride over, speaking in accented Russian with a woman named Tatiana, and he realized he hadn't actually known you spoke Russian. French, Spanish, and Urdu he'd known about. He briefly wonders what else he doesn't know about you.

When he was still moving into the house, he'd come across some photos of you in a sleek white dress looking ethereally beautiful, dancing with a boy who looked barely old enough to drive. The white gloves and other kids dancing in the background suggested it was your cotillion. There were a few more photos - photos of you dancing with your father and brothers and then another of you dancing with a blonde man who towered over you. Finally there were the polaroids of what was obviously an after party to the same event. Your dress was the slightest bit wrinkled in those and you were mostly photographed with Julian and the blonde man, your young, age-appropriate date nowhere to be seen. The photo that had really caught his eye was one of you draped across both men, leaning against Julian with your legs on the blonde man's lap, your white dress splayed around you. You'd seen what Aaron was looking at and told him how you'd exchanged your original white dress for one that was more adult and had an open back and how you'd been the scandal of the season. He'd laughed, looking back at the photo in his hand. Julian was looking at the camera while you drank straight from a bottle of champagne. That blonde man however, his eyes were trained on you and you alone.

The two of you arrive at the precinct and are directed to the conference room where, through the windows, he could see a black man in a suit speaking with a uniformed officer. Aaron walks to the conference room with you at his heels and knocks on the open door to announce your arrival.

The black man looks up at the knock. "Agent Hotchner," he greets, walking over to the two of you, his eyes trained on Hotch before he catches sight of you and his eyes get wide. "Y/N! What're you doing here?" he exclaims, leaning down to give you a slight hug.

You smile wide, returning the gesture. "I'm with the BAU," you explain.

"You're a Fed?" He seems very surprised at that and Aaron watches as you chuckle.

"Hey, you aren't Officer Lewis anymore, you're a detective. So looks like we both moved on up in life," you tease, giving him a friendly shove.

Detective Lewis laughs at that though he still appears surprised.

Hotch looks between the two of you, eyebrow quirked up in question. "You two know one another, I presume."

You nod. "Yeah, back when I lived in New York, the then _Officer_ Lewis helped me out with a little stalker issue I was having. He was the only one that believed me," you explain with a slight smile on your face.

_You had had a stalker?_ Aaron starts to ask for more information on the matter, however he's interrupted by the uniformed officer telling you that the evidence you'd asked to see on your way in was available. You quickly excuse yourself with another smile at Detective Lewis and himself.

As if sensing his need to know more, Detective Lewis turns to Hotch, to explain how you'd had a stalker who had been following you around for the better part of two months and when you'd reported it, no one had taken it too seriously until the guy had cornered you with a knife one day and cut some of your hair to take with him. "Nasty piece of work. Her lawyer got the judge to issue a warrant and they ended up finding child porn on his computer so they got him for that. The whole place was like a shrine to her though. There were photos of her everywhere, even inside her apartment. Completely nuts dude who was probably on the path to do something much worse than cutting some hair."

Aaron nods grimly as he watches you speaking with the officer across the room. Even in heels you stood a head shorter than most people. Sure, you were strong and could fight now, but he knew that hadn't always been the case. He could just imagine some terrifyingly large man cornering you at night and shoving you against a wall before knifing hair off of your head. The thought alone made bile rise in his throat.

"Anyways," Detective Lewis continued, "there was a prison riot a month after his arrest and he died during that. Good riddance I say."

_So much for the small blessings._

*------------*

Later that evening once the team had made some headway in the case but it was far too late to do much more, everyone headed out to drive to your place. Aaron pulled up to the address on the GPS - an older building just across from Central Park and close to the Midtown precinct the team was based out of.

Everyone exits the vehicle, Morgan and the rest in the car that had pulled up right behind him. An older man dressed in a plain yet well-fitted suit had exited to meet you.

"Petyr!," you greeted, meeting him halfway and kissing both cheeks.

The man - who appeared to be Eastern European - respectfully returned a smile. "Hello Miss. It is lovely to see you again."

You hand over both of the car keys to Petyr and ask that they be fueled and ready by eight in the morning, before leading everyone inside. Aaron can sense the collective mixed energy of the team - excitement and apprehension and exhaustion from the day they'd all had. It was rare for the Bureau to put them up in a nice hotel and as they entered the lobby of the building, it was clear that this was nicer than any place they'd ever stayed in prior.

They all follow you, past a desk of similarly suited men - all of whom are carrying firearms, Aaron notes - seated in front of screens monitoring the location. You wave at them and Aaron sees one of the screens populate with the entire team's names and faces as the security personnel glance over the group.

He expects you to lead them to the elevators behind the desk, however you open a door to the right just past the security desk, revealing a second set of lifts. You enter last, pressing the only button available and the elevator begins to rise. And rise. And rise.

The team spills out of the elevator, directly into a large living room with floor to ceiling windows, of what is quite obviously the penthouse. The gasps from Prentiss and JJ as they walk towards the windows to get a view of the city and park below are telling. Even Dave seems impressed.

Aaron looks around and he can tell it is your place - the deep navy blues and forest greens of the throw pillows on the large couch, the grand piano sitting in a corner (You'd recently began teaching Jack on the smaller one that sat in the living room at home.), the large marble kitchen island with a bowl of lemons sitting at the center. It was the wall art which truly stood out however - a lot more Warhol and Basquiat rather than the watercolors he was used to with you. It was a dialed up version of your home now. Your place in Georgetown was a muted version of this - a more grown up and less ostentatious version which spoke to how you'd tried to fit in early on with the team and underplay exactly how wealthy you were.

The team mills about remarking at the place as you point them all to rooms down the hallway to the left. From down the hallway he hears Morgan's voice. "There's a mint on my pillow!"

JJ walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge to reveal that it is fully stocked - drinks of every sort. The cabinets were stocked with snacks and Aaron notices that there were Cheetos for JJ and the pretzel sticks that Reid munches on mindlessly when he's deep in thought. The wet bar to the side of the kitchen has Rossi's brand of scotch. You point to an intercom machine and tell them they can order food using it.

"We can't have restaurants deliver here directly," you explain. "There's some people in the building who are sensitive about revealing their address, so the guys downstairs will handle it. Just ask for whatever you want from any restaurant in a reasonable distance. They'll take care of the check and everything."

"At some point, we're going to have to have a talk about how much money you have exactly," he mutters to you as you come to stand by his side at the edge of the kitchen.

You laugh, that laugh that causes his heart to skip ever so slightly every time. "Oh honey, we're gonna need lawyers for that conversation," you respond, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

He had a feeling you weren't joking.

He moves to head down the hallway towards the bedrooms but you stop him, indicating a different hallway to the side of the kitchen instead. The two of you say good night to the rest of the team, leaving Prentiss and Rossi sitting on the couch with identical glasses of scotch poured, JJ munching on whatever snacks she could carry with her, and Reid browsing through the bookshelves lining the corner behind the piano. Morgan had already retired for the night.

*------------*

You led Aaron down the hallway and to your old room. It was weird having everyone here, especially since you hadn't been back here yourself since you'd started with the BAU. The one time you'd come back to New York after joining the Bureau officially had been that first holiday season, and you hadn't stayed here then.

You couldn't deny that you were a little apprehensive about Aaron's reaction to the place. It was definitely a more vibrant and rebellious version of you - the version that had just found out about Julian and just broken it off with Matthew and had sought only to escape. Your entire apartment was a testament to that idea - a stark contrast to the Connecticut old money roots that you'd grown up in.

You watched as he looked around the bedroom. This was perhaps the room which would feel the most familiar to him. Your shared room back home was a near mirror copy, down to the mirror in the corner. You'd never really compromised on how you wanted your bedroom to be, though you couldn't deny that it fit in a lot better with the Georgetown house. Here it felt washed out compared to the rest of the apartment.

You see a smile appear on his face as he sees the mirror in the corner. "Never took you to be such a creature of habit," he remarks, undoing his tie.

"Only when it comes to the bedroom. I don't play around with where I sleep."

You find yourself watching as he removes the tie with a soft pull and the jacket comes off right after, followed by the belt.

"I'm going to take a bath," you tell him, heading towards the door to the bathroom. You hope he'll decide to join you but don't bother asking.

After turning the water on and finding the bath bomb you like, stocked to the side, you drop it into the large tub. Quickly taking your clothes off, you climb into the tub and let the hot water _envelop_ you. It had been a long time since you'd really enjoyed a bath, and the warmth from the water seeped into your bones as you relaxed against the back of the tub, the smell of gardenias wafting around you. Tatiana was about to get a wonderful tip for her work today. The bath bomb had been an unasked for extra.

You're so far blissed out that you barely hear the sound of the bathroom door opening as Aaron enters. He sees you with your head leaned back and eyes closed, the bubbles in the tub grazing the top of your chest and hiding the rest of you beneath.

"Hey." His voice is soft so as to not startle you.

You open your eyes to see him taking off the rest of his clothes, before he dims the bathroom light so that the two of you are bathed in a warm yellow glow. You shift forward and give him a hand to help him climb into the tub and slot himself behind you. His long legs nearly touch the other end as they stretch out on either side of you. Aaron pulls you back to lean against his chest. The water is too warm for his taste but he knows you run colder than he does. There's a view from the tub of the entire city and he can see the Empire State Building entirely lit up.

"Are there any other homes I should know about? You're not hiding a chalet in the Swiss Alps, are you?"

You chuckle, tilting your head back to look at his face. "There's a few more properties that I kept. I handed off most everything in Europe to my mother, besides my first place in Florence."

"Your first place?"

"I helped my father with a business deal when I was fifteen," you answer, tilting your head up to look straight out into the city. "He told me to pick a city and he'd buy me a place there if the deal went well. I always loved Florence."

Aaron takes note of the slight conflict in your tone. Your father is very much a touchy subject and he knows you find it difficult to enjoy the things in your past that are still linked to him. He doubted you'd been back there since.

"We should go to Florence then," he whispers, placing a kiss to the side of your neck and resting his head on your shoulder.

You smile, bringing your hand up to touch his cheek. He kisses the edge of your palm, the only part his lips could reach. "Maybe you can grow out the beard again then," you joke. There was a small part of you that was curious and regretted having been on the outs with him for those two weeks when he'd been back and had a full beard. It had never happened again. Jack hadn't been a fan apparently.

Aaron breathes out a laugh, the sensation causing goosebumps on your skin. "You liked the beard?" He sounds amused and a little bit…cautiously curious.

"Mm I think I just regret having missed out on that experience. We should've just had hate sex or something when you got back from Pakistan."

This time his laugh is deeper and he pulls you back against him tighter, drawing a squeal from your mouth. He cups your face towards him, capturing your lips in a sweetly insistent kiss, causing a moan to escape from you. His touch is gentle. It always is with you. A reminder that _hate sex_ isn't really a concept between you. Even in the moments when you're rougher with one another, a touch more aggressive, pushing boundaries and testing limits, it's never hate. Frustration, sure. Anger, maybe. But _hate_? No. Never.

You lean back against him, allowing his body to hold you up entirely. His hands roam. Past your arms, brushing the underside of your breasts, moving lower. He peppers the top of you shoulders with soft kisses and you allow your eyes to flutter shut and simply enjoy his touch.

You dance your fingers against his thighs, feeling the thick muscles there flex and unflex as your touch moves back and forth.

His hand cups you under the water, one finger grazing against your opening, then two. With his other hand he cups your breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over the nipple, each graze sending the barest of sensation rushing through you, as he gently coaxes it into a peak. You know you're growing wetter and its not just the bathwater.

His light touch is dizzying in its barely thereness. He enters you with two fingers, softly exploring. He crooks his fingers just barely, finding the rough patch inside and grazing over it as his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in languid circles. He continues the light touches until he's drawn far too many soft and wanton moans from you. The water is warm and your head is heady from the perfume that sits over the entire room and Aaron is solid behind you, taking his time working you up to the edge. When he finally lets you come, it is almost as an afterthought. His lips have never once left you in their devotion.

Hate never really was an option.

*------------*

Derek had been an absolute drill sergeant, knocking on your door at five thirty in the morning. You'd forced yourself to get up so he wouldn't wake Aaron, grabbing the workout clothes from your bag and taking them outside with you. Derek had turned around as you quickly got dressed and the two of you had run five miles, after which he made you do burpees and push ups in the park. You had gotten back to your room completely exhausted, promising yourself you wouldn't even look at a croissant again. _Yeah, right_.

Aaron was already up by the time you had returned. He'd managed to figure out the coffee machine in the kitchen after realizing it was a slightly older version of the one you had at home and had made you a latte just how you liked it. He handed it to you as you exited the bedroom dressed in a suit he hadn't seen before. It looked like you'd gone shopping in Paris, the dark green suit fitting you like a glove. You'd paired it with black stilettos as you were going to be spending most of the day at the precinct anyways.

"Good morning," he says, smiling appreciatively at the new outfit.

You hopped up onto the kitchen island as you usually did on mornings when it was just the two of you. He leaned against the counter across from you, drinking what was sure to be his second cup. You took a sip of the latte he'd made and it was perfect. Sometimes you wondered how Haley had dealt with him, because while Aaron was certainly _capable_ there was a lot of stuff which he did automatically now that you'd had to teach him - making the perfect cup of coffee being the most important one. Though it hadn't all happened over the course of just your relationship. The coffee thing, he'd learned for you much earlier.

It appeared you two were the first ones ready, though you could hear sounds coming from down the hallway, indicating that the rest of the team was at least awake. The early morning sunlight was streaming in through the large windows, reminding you why you'd chosen this place. It hit Aaron just perfectly, creating a halo around him.

You reach out drawing him closer to you by his tie, intent on saying good morning properly. He looks back towards the hallway, before allowing you to pull him down to meet your lips. He's slow and methodical, kissing you just so, before his tongue darts out to lick your lips, prompting you to open your mouth to him. Your hands are still clutched onto his tie and his hands run up your legs, your thighs, and your waist. He can feel your legs instinctively start to wrap around him, the heel of your stiletto digging into the back of his thighs. You let go of his tie to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him in even closer as he releases you with a gasp. You barely have a second to draw a breath before he returns, the two of you lost in your own world.

Only the insistent clearing of a throat accompanied by Emily's claps are enough to break you apart. You turn to see Rossi, Derek, and Emily standing at the edge of the kitchen. Rossi appears unbothered, Derek seems embarrassed, and Emily is exuberantly thrilled as she congratulates you for getting a morning makeout session in, before stealing your coffee. You and Aaron quickly adjust yourselves, however you're glad to note that he appears mostly unaffected as well. Life was far too short to be embarrassed by having your coworkers (who were staying in _your_ home) catch you kissing your boyfriend.

To be honest, it was probably good for Emily to see this on occasion. She'd been convinced that Aaron was, in her words, the human equivalent of vanilla pudding. She figured that between both of your lack of a wide range of sexual partners, that the two of you only fucked in missionary. She couldn't be further from the truth, however you didn't really care to clear up her misconceptions. Not everyone needed to be bound up and choked to the brink of death in order to feel something.


	41. Promises

It was only the second day of the New York case and the team was still building the profile on the unsub. You were all settled into the conference room and reviewing the case with fresh eyes. You were validating the geographic profile Reid had built and circled a potential centroid for the attacks. Looking back at him, he nods, agreeing with your addition. Everyone broke for lunch when Rossi came back carrying the sandwiches from your favorite Italian deli in the city.

"Okay, I need thirty minutes of talking about anything but the case," JJ says, leaning back in her chair and popping a potato chip into her mouth.

Hotch, Reid, and Rossi were already engaged in a discussion around unsubs who chose arson as their means of killing. You knew Rossi was collecting material for his next book and you'd made him promise to let you read a draft when he had more.

"Well, Eastwood has been blowing me off," Emily responds, fulfilling JJ's request for a case-free lunch.

"When was your last date?" Derek asks, swiping chips out of your bag. Apparently he didn't want his barbeque flavored ones anymore. You shake your head, exchanging chip bags with him.

"We hung out two weeks ago at his place. Netflix and chilled, as the kids say," she answers.

"Well that's your problem," you tell her, taking a large bite of your sandwich. It was perfect, just how you remembered it. You might love Georgetown, but food in New York would always be superior.

At her raised eyebrow, you continue. "You _hang out_ with men you have romantic interest in. You're not supposed to just hang out with them. That makes them passive. You want them to plan a date, court you, put in some effort."

"Didn't you and Hotch hang out all the time before you got together?" JJ questions.

Aaron turns at the sound of his name to tune in to the other conversation at the table.

"That's different. We didn't start out romantically. I've never hung out with a man who I'm only interested in dating. You want to stay in the girlfriend box, not the friend and sexual partner box," you explain, sharing a look with Aaron. He knew your views on dating very well by now. You were old school when it came to things like that, which was good because so was he. Aaron always put in the time and effort to plan dates for the two of you, despite your busy work schedules and Jack. After you had moved in together, you'd told him he didn't have to do that, but he liked doing it. He enjoyed the process of planning something special, the two of you getting dressed up, and seeing your eyes light up when you figured out what he had in mind for the night. It might not happen as much as in the beginning, but that only made it more noteworthy when it did.

"Hmm, so you're saying I should stop hanging out with him? Blow him off?"

"Yes, let him put in the effort. You are a lady, you deserve to be treated as such. And if he doesn't try, then good riddance. You can do better than some middle aged man whose idea of a date is inviting you over to his couch. Regardless, you shouldn't be dating just one person anyways until he's your boyfriend."

Emily hums, taking a bite of her sandwich and thinking over what you said. You know she's going to realize the validity of it. Especially if Eastwood lets her down again.

Suddenly there's a loud commotion coming from outside the precinct and you all look around curiously. It sounds like a bunch of people arguing with one another. Derek gets up and peeks out through the blinds to see what's going on.

"Looks like a bunch of photographers," he says, moving to open the blinds entirely.

"No, don't." You stand to stop him and see the team look at you curiously.

"It's probably just reporters wanting details on the case," Aaron says, looking at you oddly. You've abandoned your sandwich entirely and you have a panicked look on your face that seems disparate with the situation.

"It's photographers, right? Not reporters and news cameras?" you ask.

Derek peeks out again and scans the crowd, before turning back and nodding.

"What's going on?" Aaron asks.

"It's not for the case," you tell him, a frown on your face. You'd been a little worried about this happening but hopeful that it had been long enough that it might not be an issue. With that, you walk out to speak with one of the uniformed officers in the precinct, leaving the entire team questioning what was happening.

Aaron and Derek left to join you, while the rest of them waited in the conference room and watched through the glass panes. However, before Aaron can ask you what's going on, the officer you'd spoken with is leading a man back in while holding a camera. Aaron appraises the man who is quite obviously one of the photographers from outside. He appears to be a run-of-the-mill paparazzi type and Aaron can see the Page Six credentials dangling on a lanyard around his neck.

"Y/N L/N, it's really you!"

"Hi Terry," you reply, kissing both of his cheeks.

"You summoned me?" he asks, an exasperated lilt in his tone, indicating to the officer dangling his camera by its strap.

" Some psychopath is running around the city setting fires. I can't do my job if there's going to be photographers hounding me the second I step outside. Help me out."

"The people are curious, Y/N. Mysterious enigma party girl turned federal agent. The public wants to know!"

Terry was a reasonable guy, you know you can reach some sort of compromise with him. You have before. He's the reason you were able to travel to New York back and forth undetected for the time you were in your training.

"Help me out here, Terry," you ask again.

"Well," he starts, and you can detect the scheming tone in his voice, "there is this club opening on Friday. I suppose I could get everyone to back off if you were guaranteed to make an appearance."

You know he'll be getting some sort of kick back from the club for securing you. You glance at Aaron from the side of your eye, wondering what he's thinking of all of this. You know you have to agree otherwise there's no way you or the team can get in and out of the precinct easily. It's a small price to pay in order to be able to do your job in peace.

You nod, agreeing to Terry's request. "You'll handle everything," you tell him.

"Of course," he agrees, throwing you his most dazzling smile. "I'll need a little something exclusive, but I'll make it work. Bring your friends too," he says, eyeing Aaron and Derek. "We could use some more yummy specimens in the background shots."

You let out a small laugh at that, seeing both Derek and Aaron look the slightest bit flustered. Terry takes his leave with a flirty wave. You turn to Derek who is looking at you in equal parts confusion and amusement. "Tell Penelope. We're going clubbing Friday." You know she won't want to miss this.

Finally, you turn to Aaron, apprehensive of his reaction. Aaron hadn't been around this sort of life before - the deals with paparazzi, being hounded and tracked - it had taken a lot for you to escape it before.

Aaron, for his part, knew that it took a lot out of you to agree to that deal and that you only did it for the team and the case. He didn't have to know how it was for you back then, in order to know that this wasn't you anymore. You were fiercely private with your life now, and having it exposed in this way had to be difficult. On your face, he can see the insecurity at having this part of your old life at play again. Sensing that you need a moment, he turns and sees Detective Lewis exiting his office and he asks to borrow it for a minute.

"Come on," he says, leading you inside and closing the door behind you. "Are you alright?"

You turn to him, glad to be away from everyone's prying eyes. Taking a deep breath, you start to explain to him that you're sorry that this happened but you're certain it was the easiest option, but he cuts you off.

"I didn't ask for an explanation. I asked if you're alright."

You look at him and note that he doesn't seem upset with you. Concerned and worried, yes. But not upset. That's somewhat of a relief. You nod, but can't resist walking up to him and burying your face into his chest. "I just thought this part of my life was over. I should've known better."

Aaron wraps his arms around you, resting his chin at the top of your head. "You don't have to do the club thing. We can figure out something else."

"No," you mumble. "This is easiest. It'll be more work figuring out something else."

He looks down at you as you're leaned against him, letting him support you. He knows that the team could figure out alternatives. Start leaving from the back door, having you stay behind, any number of things. But he knows you'd hate them all having to do workarounds the rest of the case simply because of your presence, which is the only reason he concedes. "Okay, if you're sure."

You nod, going up on you toes and pressing a light kiss to his lips. "Thank you for not freaking out."

He looks at you curiously. Sometimes you said things like this - thanking him for not overreacting to something or being surprised when he simply doesn't care about you flirting with other men. He wagers Matthew had been like that - jealous and reactionary. Which was not to say that Aaron didn't get jealous. He knew the way most men behaved around you. You had an easy, effervescent quality that people gravitated towards. However, he knew where he stood with you and you weren't the kind of person who would ever betray him. There was no reason for him to get worked up about other men. Even this situation, he didn't understand why you were thanking him. It wasn't your fault.

"Nothing to freak out about," he tells you, his voice calm and reassuring.

The two of you stay like that for another moment before leaving to join the rest of the team.

*------------*

JJ and you are reviewing the victimology one more time, to make sure nothing was missed. You're restless because the team has been in New York for three whole days already and it doesn't feel like you're any closer to an answer. The profile exists but it doesn't point to anyone specific. In a city like New York, there really was no shortage of crazy people.

Your eyes are starting to glaze over as you read through the statements from the family members, your fingers toying absentmindedly with the pendant on your necklace. It had been a gift from Jack and Aaron on your birthday. A small vintage gold pendant with an emerald on a gold chain - unobtrusive and very much your style. You only took it off when you absolutely had to.

With a frustrated sigh, you look up to see JJ equally done with the files in front of her. She looks far away, one hand fidgeting with a lock of hair and the other resting on her still flat stomach. You'd been watching JJ ever since you found out she was pregnant. Some natural impulse to make sure she was alright and comfortable. You knew she'd hate the extra attention, so you tried to be discreet about it, but you couldn't help yourself. She'd seemed off ever since she'd told everyone that she was pregnant and you had this odd feeling that maybe it wasn't exactly what she wanted.

Glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot, you whisper, "Hey Jayje."

JJ looks up at you as if drawn from deep thought. It definitely hadn't been about the case.

"Are you okay?" you ask. "You know, with everything?" You indicate towards her hand on her stomach.

She appears thrown by the question and you know she hadn't thought anyone could tell that something was wrong. Sighing, you watch as she shifts to sit up straighter and leans towards you more. "I'm supposed to be happy, right?"

"You're not _supposed_ to be anything. Whatever you are is what you're supposed to be," you tell her, standing to move to the chair right next to her.

"I grew up in a small town. You're supposed to get married, pop out a few kids, make your home for your husband. Here I am, already in my late thirties, with only one kid, a husband who I've made into essentially a stay at home father, while I jet off and play hero." The conflict of subverting the expectations she's been told to adhere to is evident in her voice.

You know very well how difficult it is to go against what is expected of you. You nod, knowing she has more she wants to get out.

Prompted by you, she continues, "Another kid, when I'm already barely there for my first - while I feel like I'm falling behind at work because now I'll have to be off again, while I'll have another child that'll add to the stress and chaos of our lives - I don't know. It just feels - I'm not sure how I feel."

You sigh, reaching out and grabbing her hand. She squeezes yours tightly and you can feel the slight tremor she's battling as she spoke.

"Do you want another child?" you ask softly, looking into her eyes.

She closes her eyes for a moment, giving herself time to think over your question. "Yes, I do."

"Okay."

"But I'm an agent too - I like my job, I want to keep doing it and doing it well and I worry that this will make it harder."

You understand where she's coming from. It's hard to feel like you're enough - both at work and at home. You've hardly been there for Jack or Aaron lately since you've been away so much and the balancing act is extremely precarious. You want to move ahead and do well at your job. But you also want to be a good partner to Aaron - be there to support him and be there for Jack as well. There were days you sat in Paris and all you could think was that your relationship would simply slip out of your hands because you weren't around enough. That Jack would forget what you looked like and not want you around because you were so absent. It was a dark sort of mindset to be in and it only went away when you were back with them both and obviously they wanted you around and of course Jack hadn't forgotten you.

"You know we'll all help you in any way we can," you tell her, hoping to be somewhat reassuring. "If you're worried about anyone thinking any less of you for being a mom too - that's entirely untrue. I know I'm not a parent, but I know that being one and doing the job we do is probably the hardest thing in the world." She nods as you speak, so you continue, "And as far as people's expectations go - being submissive and giving in to what people expect of us isn't natural. If it was, they wouldn't need all the indoctrination around women being obedient to their husbands. Nature doesn't need reminders," you tell her, gripping her hands tightly. "Do what comes naturally to you. The rest will fall into place."

JJ lets out a small laugh and swipes at her eyes. A couple of stray tears had made their way out into the open. "You're good at this, you know."

"At what?"

"I don't know what kind of understanding you and Hotch have about Jack, but you're a mom, Y/N. Kids, they don't know the difference between biological parents and otherwise. All they care about is who they want to hold them when they're upset and the way Jack treats you is no different from the way Henry treats me."

Aaron can say whatever he wants about you and Jack, but hearing it from JJ means more. You sniffle back your own tears, and your voice catches ever so slightly. "Thanks JJ."

*------------*

In the past few days, you'd gotten a lot more comfortable with having everyone in your old city. The days were spent in the precinct and around town, running down leads. The nights were spent back in your living room, ordering takeout and discussing the case and next steps.

The third night, you and Aaron were the last ones still awake, when you decided to take him somewhere. Leading him out to the balcony attached to your bedroom, you show him to the roof of the building. It's where you used to end up whenever you hosted parties at the apartment, for a respite from all the people and noise.

It's hard to see stars in the city - the lights are too bright. So Aaron wrapped himself around you to keep you warm and the two of you stood on the rooftop and watched the city lights instead. "You know, you're the first guy to have spent the night with me here," you tell him, one hand playing with the pendant around your neck.

He was a little surprised at that. He knew you'd been involved with someone while in New York, though he'd never pursued the topic. Something told him - especially with how little you liked talking about your life before the FBI - that you didn't particularly want to talk about that relationship. If that's what it was. You'd only ever called that man a friend, but Aaron knew better than to think that to be the case. He knew you'd been involved for at least some of your time in New York and then the two years of training. He wasn't sure when it had ended exactly, but he'd known you were dating other people your first year with the team, from conversations he'd overheard between you and the girls. Regardless, you didn't really do casual and he knew that whoever that person had been, had to be someone you at least trusted greatly. Especially for him to have come after Matthew.

"I plan on being the last too," he responded, bending down to kiss you.

And in the chilly night air, wrapped up in the warm arms of Aaron Hotchner, with the lights of your favorite city twinkling around you, you believed him. You completely believed him.

*------------*

The team was four days into the case and had finally made a breakthrough. Hotch was coordinating everything from the precinct along with Detective Lewis, and the rest of the team had split up and scattered around the city to the potential new sites that Penelope had identified as the next targets.

You and Emily are paired together, parked outside the building for any sign of movement. You needed to catch this guy in the act, otherwise you didn't have much physical evidence to go on yet to tie him to the crimes.

You're both on high alert, listening to the comms units in your ears for any updates. As you look at the building you're staking out, you catch some movement in the upstairs window. It should be abandoned, so you instantly draw Emily's attention to it. Right as she turns, the upstairs window is blown out and you see flames.

"Hotch, we got fire at our location," she relays pressing on the button to communicate back to him, as the two of you quickly get out of the car and head towards the building. With any luck, the unsub will be inside still and the victim would be alive.

"If there's already fire, you should wait for backup and the fire department," you hear Aaron's voice instructing the two of you.

You and Emily look at one another as the fire appears to quickly accelerate. You both know you don't have that long to save the victim. You shake your head at her, and shift your eyes towards the building, indicating that you have to go in.

"We don't have time, Hotch. We're going in."

The two of you run towards the building and Emily swiftly kicks down the door, a cloud of smoke escaping as she does. The two of you ignore Hotch's instructions to stand down and wait. He wasn't there. He couldn't see how quickly it was spreading.

"Y/N, be careful," he says finally, after neither you nor Emily respond to his pleas to wait.

"Always am," you respond, as both you and Emily, guns drawn, walk through the bottom part of the building. It was a two story apartment complex in Uptown, built in the 1950s. The fire appeared to be isolated upstairs for the time being as the two of you quickly cleared the bottom portion and then you followed Emily upstairs.

You take turns clearing rooms down one hallway until you come to the final one. The doorknob is hot to the touch. Emily knocks down this door as well and the two of you walk inside a large room to see flames spread across curtains and a bound up girl in one corner, inching away as much as she could towards the door to escape the fire.

Emily manages to ungag and unbound her while you try to usher them both out the room. "He went down the other hallway, there's another set of stairs," the girl says as soon as she's able to speak. Emily is half supporting her weight and the growing smoke is getting to you all. There are more fires set down the other hallway.

"Go, get her out," you tell Emily, moving down towards the other hallway that the girl had indicated.

"Y/N, no, we need to get out," she says, starting to walk down the stairs.

"We only catch this guy in the act, Em. Go!"

Ignoring her, you race down the other hallway, trusting her to get the girl out first. The smoke is getting thicker and it's getting harder to breathe as you go through the other rooms, finally finding a second set of stairs leading to the back of the house that you'd already checked out earlier. You can feel your breathing getting harsher as the smoke infiltrates your lungs and you're starting to cough.

You quickly clear the staircase and race downstairs, opening the door into the kitchen. Your vision is already hazy from the thick cloud of smoke and you know your coughing is alerting anyone in the vicinity to your presence. Right before you're able to turn and check behind the door, you feel the barrel of a gun pointed to the back of your head. _Crap._

"Fire is dangerous. You never know when it might burn you." The horrid, raspy voice of the man who is undoubtedly the unsub makes your stomach clench.

However, before you can do anything, you hear a gunshot. For a second you think it was him. You think he'd shot you. But then you hear a loud thud as he falls behind you and you turn to see Emily with her weapon drawn, fingers clenched on the trigger. She'd come back for you.

Emily reaches out and grabs your hand as the two of you quickly make your way towards the exit. The flames have spread downstairs and you're forced to maneuver around the edge of the main room, the flames nearly licking at you and the entire building feels like a furnace. The two of you move quickly, knowing that it can get worse any second. You both exit onto the courtyard and you feel like you're home clear. You can see blue police lights across the street and the fire truck has arrived as well. It's loud and chaotic but you're free and clear.

You walk quickly, trying to make it out of the courtyard and into the street, when the rest of the windows also give out, exploding behind you. The two of you move to escape the glass shards but you won't be fast enough. You both drop to the ground and you find yourself on top of her, shards of glass raining around you. You move your arm to cover your face, your body shielding most of Emily's.

"Are you okay?" she asks as the tremors from the explosion leave the air. You're still on top of her and neither one of you seems capable of movement quite yet. The smoke had really done on a number on you.

"Are you?" you manage.

"Yeah, think you took the brunt of it."

"Good," you manage out, breathing heavily. "Because you only get one funeral, and you already used yours up."

She knows you're trying to make light of it, but for a moment you'd both thought you were done for. Twice for you, as you'd also had a gun to your head in the last ten minutes.

You roll off of her and she helps you stand up, the two of you looking one another over for injuries. She seems alright besides a scrape or two but you'd felt some glass earlier and you're not sure how bad it is.

"That's going to need to get extracted," Emily says, pointing to your arm and leading you to an ambulance with a medic.

As you settle onto the foot of the ambulance and the EMT runs to get supplies, you see more cars pull up.

"Hotch is gonna kill me," she mutters, as the EMT returns and makes a cut in the sleeve of your shirt to open it up and get the glass shards out with a pair of tweezers. You wince as he begins to take the glass out. It hadn't hurt too much so far, but your adrenaline was also starting to crash and you knew it would hurt more than a light sting pretty soon.

You both see Aaron racing towards you, walking past the officers trying to get his attention.

Seeing him approach, Emily nods at him and goes to give a statement of what happened to the uniformed officers.

Aaron could barely stomach the anxiety that had entered him from the second you and Prentiss had entered the building. He'd left the precinct immediately, leaving Detective Lewis to coordinate. As he'd driven up, he'd seen the windows explode and his entire body frozen up, heart in his stomach, and he felt clammy all over. He didn't know if you'd made it out yet.

He abandoned the car as soon as he was able and had to race through a dozen people trying to get his attention as he looked around for you. When he finally caught sight of you sitting at the foot of the ambulance, it was like he could finally breathe again. The air was smoke filled and his lungs burned as he took in a breath, watching you for a second. Prentiss towered over you and you sat by her, looking entirely small and vulnerable, cradling your arm.

You reached out for him the second you saw him and he grasped your hand in his, bringing your fingers to his lips to confirm what his eyes were telling him. You were _alive_.

He looks entirely frazzled in a way you've never seen him before. Panic, fear, a thousand emotions running across his face as he takes in the sight of you sitting next to the medic as he picks out glass from your skin. His hand clutches yours tightly and you feel awful for putting him through this. You try your best not to wince as the guy continues to pull glass out, knowing that would just compound Aaron's worry.

You pull on the hand he's holding you by, drawing him closer to sit where Emily had been a few moments ago. "I'm alright," you tell him, moving your hand to cup his face. He closes his eyes instinctively at your touch, just for a second.

He nods disbelievingly and you know he can't afford to be like this over one of his agents getting just the slightest bit injured. Derek had been shot and he'd still commanded a room. Emily was tortured and Aaron hadn't blinked, his steely gaze concentrated on bringing down the unsub. You know that you getting hurt is different. You're far too aware of how different it is. In his mind he's got to be going over the trauma of losing Haley all over again, and this is nothing remotely close to that, but you know that fear is ever present in his mind.

You draw him in and kiss his lips ever so lightly, ignoring the stabbing pain in your arm. "Go," you instruct him softly. "Go be Unit Chief. I'm fine."

He looks over at the medic again as the man pulls a large piece of glass out, and his face scrunches up in anguish at the obvious pain you must be in. He knows you're putting on a brave face right now but he's also seen you cry when you stub your toe so he knows this hurts more than you're letting him see.

He looks back to where a crowd of people are waiting for his instructions. You squeeze his hand again, assuring him that you're alright. He nods and stands up, reluctantly letting go of your hand.

"Hey," you call out to him, "Send Emily, would you?"

He turns and nods, walking over to Prentiss and instructing her to go with you in case you need to go to the hospital as well.

Once Emily arrives, you clench her hand tightly as the medic removes the final large piece. "Son of a bitch," you mumble, as she lets you tuck yourself into the crook of her neck.

Emily looks off into the crowd as Hotch figures out the next steps and coordinates extracting the unsub's body with the fire department. He'd looked scared to death when he'd seen you, and had only looked moderately better when he'd come to tell her to go with you to the hospital.

The medic tells you you're going to need stiches and you're simply grateful he hadn't said that while Aaron had been around to hear it. Emily escorts you to the hospital and holds your hand throughout, as you moan and groan about the pain finally since its just her.

*------------*

The team is settled into your living room later that night. You're all going to go clubbing tomorrow night, per your promise to Terry. Aaron had tried to tell you that you were no longer obligated to go after an injury, but you didn't want to back out of your promise and risk burning bridges. You never knew when someone would come in handy.

Penelope would be arriving tomorrow with outfits for JJ and Emily. You still had most of your party wardrobe in New York, conveniently enough. There hadn't been much need for clubbing attire the past few years.

You'd all eaten and Spencer and Derek had cleared up. Aaron and Rossi were settled into the armchairs and the rest of you were spread out across the room on the large couch. Spencer was gently playing the piano to a tune that you recognized but couldn't quite place.

You got up to get the pain killers the doctor had prescribed you and took them in the kitchen, before returning. As you walk by Aaron's chair, he reaches out and grabs your hand. You look at him in question, but he silently pulls you towards him, maneuvering you onto his lap. You're surprised, because the two of you might quickly peck in front of the team, but rarely do you outright show affection in this manner. However, you allow him to place you on top of him and he's careful to avoid touching the stitches as he makes sure you're comfortable.

You look back at the team but they all seem unbothered and absorbed in their separate conversations, so you tuck your face into the crook of his neck. "I'm fine," you whisper so only he can hear.

Aaron shifts his eyes to look at you and nods almost imperceptibly.

You're kind of glad he'd pulled you onto his lap, because you'd had this growing anxiety within you ever since you'd come back from the hospital. You knew Aaron couldn't handle someone he loved dying. You knew that. And yet today he'd been forced to confront the possibility of something happening to you. You knew that you could promise you'd be fine and that nothing would happen to you until you're blue in the face, but he'd never believe you. You can't promise that. You can't know that.

That crazy, anxious part of you had convinced itself that he would do anything possible to mitigate the possible hurt he would feel if something happened and you're almost waiting for the possibility of him pushing you away. But he'd promised he wouldn't do that to you ever, and it would appear he's good at keeping his promises too.

You allow yourself to become limp against him, the drowsiness from the pills and the exhaustion from the day catching up to you. His arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you securely against him. Aaron returns to his conversation with Dave and it's not long before you're asleep.

As its getting late, Aaron tucks an arm under your knees and stands, lifting you with him, careful not to wake you. You look entirely fragile in his arms and the team watches as he says good night to them all and carries you to your bedroom. They all watch as he goes, knowing one thing between them - if today was anything to go by, nothing could ever happen to you. Because if someone ever happened to you, Aaron Hotchner would not simply break. He would shatter. And there would not be a single thing any of them could do to piece him back together again.


	42. Strangers

There was a dull throbbing pain in your arm when you woke up the following morning - an apt reminder of the day before. Your room was cast in shadows and it was still early in the morning. The faint sound of rain could be heard outside, blanketing you with its presence. You're still laying on your side and Aaron's warm arm sits across your waist, his deep breaths gently blowing the hair at the nape of your neck.

You find yourself reaching for his hand and covering it where it lay across your stomach. You'd nearly died yesterday. Twice. You'd had a gun to the back of your head. You could barely see through the smoke. If Emily hadn't come in the nick of time, you're pretty sure he would've shot you. You hadn't had the time or space to do anything about it. You can feel your breathing get harsher as you reckon with that realization. If you'd died, Aaron - him and Jack - what about them - how would they handle it? You can feel hot tears in your eyes and the panic caused by the entire situation rising, imagining Aaron having to go home alone to Jack - having to tell him that… The thought was far too awful to bear. _Funny how dying becomes scary once we have something to lose._

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Aaron had felt your breathing change and then felt you tremble against him. He turns you around, noticing the tears in your eyes, and pulls you to lay on top of him. Rubbing your back soothingly, he guides you through breathing regularly, reminding you that you're safe, that you're alright.

It's working. His voice and his touch are helping. You close your eyes and focus on the beating of his heart. He continues to rub your back as your breath evens out. When you finally open your eyes to look at him, his face is one of the utmost concern and you're pretty sure you're going to start crying all over again. Y _ou really hadn't meant to worry him._

"I'm sorry," you gasp out, reaching up to touch his cheek. He leans into you as he always does. Your voice breaks as you continue, but you really need to tell him. "I'm sorry for scaring you yesterday, I'm so sorry."

"I know. I know you are." He can tell you're finally allowing yourself to deal with what happened last night. It had been all too terrifying for him to contend with. Walking away from you afterwards and directing the crew on what to do next had been an ordeal, his mind constantly on you and how you were doing. But he knew you - he trusted that you'd made the right decisions, the same decisions he would make in the situation. Prentiss had told him how you'd gone after the unsub and it wasn't any different from what any of them would have done. He couldn't truly fault you for it. When she'd told him how you'd thrown yourself on top of her however, his heart had about threatened to give out. He saw it for what it was - you doing your very best to not lose Emily again.

He helps you situate yourself back on the bed, this time facing him as you tangle your legs together and run your icy toes against his shins under his flannel pajamas, causing him to hiss. He's not sure why he's surprised, since you do this every time. He wraps himself around you, your arm slung around his stomach, as he plays with your hair because he knows it soothes you and would help you fall back asleep.

"You know I love you, right?" you ask him, your voice small and unsure, as though you're not sure if this is something you should voice. "I know I'm not the best at saying it, but I'd hate to think you didn't know that." _You'd hate to die, thinking he didn't know that._

He nods, "I do." He knows you love him. He knows it's hard for you to say - that you're not used to saying it. More often than not you simply smile and kiss him when he says it to you. That doesn't mean he doesn't know. Even before he'd moved in, a subscription to the Wall Street Journal had started being delivered to your house. Jack's teachers were far more familiar with you than they were with him - the number of bake sales and booth duties you'd signed up for spoke for themselves. You hadn't given up on him yet - he knew he wasn't the easiest of partners to be with. You put up with his neurotic tendencies, you handled him when he became domineering and controlling and unyielding, you were there for him when all he needed was for someone to stay. Out of all the things you did for him and Jack, all the compromises and accommodations, that was the one thing that told him without a doubt that you loved him.

The two of you fall asleep again with his arms wrapped tight around you, your face buried into his chest and your hands bunched up tight into his shirt, unwilling to let go.

When he wakes up again, you've turned around in his arms. You can never stand to be in one position for too long and he's gotten used to you shifting every couple of hours in the night. He barely notices it anymore as you move and maneuver around him, contorting yourself to him no matter which way you decide to settle down.

He knows you're awake because you're grinding yourself into him, moving your hips against him. "Mm, don't write checks you can't cash sweetheart," he mumbles into your skin, kissing the side of your neck.

You grin. It had taken him long enough. "I'm not," you reply, continuing your movements against his growing erection. You grab his hand that's wrapped around your waist and move his hand to cup your breasts.

"You're still injured," he breathes out, stalling as if to stop your movement, though his hand instinctively squeezes your breasts, drawing a small moan from you. You were going to drive him _insane_.

"Then I guess you should do all the work." You turn, your lips finding his and you can feel him smile into the kiss. He's going to give in. He always does.

By the time the two of you get ready and leave your room, the rest of the team is already up. Derek gives you a knowing smirk from his spot near the window, bringing his coffee mug to his mouth right before Aaron looks at him. JJ and Spencer are at the dining table, eating the frozen waffles that Tatiana had stocked in the freezer, despite you telling them they could order anything, and both Rossi and Emily are situated on the couch, their eyes trained on the television playing the news.

You two greet everyone and JJ tells you that Penelope will be arriving soon. Her, Reid, and Derek have tickets to go catch Hamilton courtesy of your Broadway contact and you'd gotten in touch with your old friend Maeve, because you had a feeling her and Spencer would hit it off. She was joining them for the play. He'd lamented to you after the dinner party, that he was really starting to miss having someone despite never really having had someone. You could sympathize with that feeling of yearning - the kind that burrows into your bones and forces you to miss someone you don't even know yet.

Aaron watches as you go over to Emily, leaning down over the back of the couch and hugging her around her shoulders. You thank her for coming back for you yesterday and she squeezes your hand, turning to place a quick kiss to your cheek.

He hands you a coffee right as Jack calls and the two of them chat briefly before his son demands to speak with you, and you carry the phone into the bedroom, a conspiratorial smile on your face. His birthday is fast approaching and he has a feeling you and Jack have something in the works. He goes to sit by Emily and Dave, content to watch the anchor discuss the latest events in the election that is underway.

"Is she alright?" Emily asks him, her voice low so as to ensure that no one else can hear her. She had a worried look on her face as her eyes settled on the door you'd disappeared behind.

"She had a bit of a moment regarding yesterday," he reveals, looking around to make sure the rest of the team was engrossed in their individual activities. Dave was closest, however his head was bent over a notebook where he was undoubtedly documenting the latest case. "I think it was a lot and she just realized how much of a close call it was."

Emily nods understandingly. "Good. Yesterday _was_ way too close and sometimes that fear helps us figure out what we really want. What matters."

Aaron agrees. These moments were usually a reset, coming along when he needed them most. It had happened around the time of his and Haley's divorce, when he'd nearly gotten shot and had the realization that he had a wife and young son he had to stay alive for. He'd nearly quit the team then, and while that hadn't happened for other reasons, death had a way of clarifying priorities like none other.

By the time you exit the bedroom, Penelope has arrived with dresses for both Emily and JJ. She greets you with a quick hug and thanks you for securing the Broadway tickets, before settling onto the couch with everyone else.

"This is supposed to be the best party in town all month," Penelope gushes. "I looked it up and getting on the guest list is impossible. They've got a veritable who's who of New York society. They've even got a Prince!"

"Which Prince?" JJ asks, her mouth quirked up into a smile at Penelope's obvious excitement.

"The Prince of Bulgaria."

"Oh! Markos is in town? I haven't seen him in ages!" you exclaim from your spot on Aaron's lap. Penelope had been a little surprised to see the two of you so obviously affectionate with one another, but had merely called it adorable and not made it too awkward. After last night it seemed the others were just used to it now.

"You _know_ the Prince of Bulgaria?" Aaron asks, a slightly amused look on his face as his fingers play with the edge of the skirt you'd donned.

"Yeah, we went on a few dates to make his ex jealous," you reveal, turning slightly to look at him. "He promised me an extradition to Bulgaria, should the need ever arise."

Your explanation is met with some incredulity and laughter and the conversation goes from the party that night to the best parties of everyone's college days, meandering through the group.

Once Derek, Penelope, and Reid leave for the play, JJ declares the need for a nap and a long video chat with her boys, leaving you, Aaron, Emily, and Rossi to figure out lunch for yourselves. You leave, promising to bring something back for JJ.

Rossi's been a bit of a pain about the clubbing, claiming that he's far too old for that scene, especially once he hears that the party doesn't really get started till eleven at night. However, you promise to make it worth his while, and it might have to do with your reputation for keeping your promises or it’s the fact that you were injured yesterday and you pouted at him, that he gives in and agrees to come along without complaint.

The four of you had a leisurely lunch (you had food sent to the apartment for JJ so she wouldn't be waiting for too long) and walked through the park, talking about the upcoming holidays and everyone's plans. Aaron was onboard with your idea to take Jack to Europe for Christmas, however everyone on the team would be back in town for New Year's Eve so Rossi had decided to host at his place.

By the time you all return to the apartment, the Broadway goers were back as well, Maeve in tow. You'd been right, her and Spencer had hit it off wonderfully. They'd bonded over some obscure philosophers and were debating their work enthusiastically when you'd seen them. Maeve had to unfortunately beg off clubbing with the team for the night as she had a prior engagement, but she and Spencer exchanged numbers before she left. He got some teasing about that from Derek but overall everyone was thrilled for him. His colored face never really did return to its normal pallor the rest of the evening.

You made a large batch of coffee and encouraged everyone to drink some and take a nap, as it would be a long night ahead. This wasn't your first rodeo but it had been a while since you all had gone all night on something that wasn't a case file. You could use all the help you can get.

Everyone wanders back into the living room by the evening and you ordered dinner that would keep everyone satisfied for some time, choosing to order Thai as you knew that at some point after the club, you'd force Aaron to let you get dollar pizza even though it would upset your stomach later.

"JJ, is Henry reading on his own yet?" Penelope asks from her spot on the couch, a forkful of Pad Thai halfway to her mouth.

"Yeah, he is. Why?"

"I need to start my Christmas shopping. I figure maybe Jack and Henry might enjoy starting on the Harry Potter series if they haven't already," she explains, looking at both you and Aaron as well.

"That'd be great Pen, thanks," you tell her. Jack's started reading on his own, but either you or Aaron try to also read the books he's reading so he has someone to talk to about the story. He'd started reading the Magic Treehouse books recently and you and Aaron were switching off reading books in the series and then filling in the other person so you're both caught up on the overall plot.

"Great! It'll be fun to see which houses the kiddos want to be in," she says. Spencer agrees from beside her. You know he's been waiting for the kids to be old enough to be into the things he's into.

"As long as its not Hufflepuff," you joke, poking your tongue out at her. Penelope was a very obvious Hufflepuff.

"How very Slytherin of you," she retorts with a huff, before she looks at Aaron seated across from you and you see her eyes widen ever so slightly. "Oh! But actually Hotch would be a total Gryffindor - you two would have the Romeo and Juliet forbidden romance thing."

You laugh at that. "Nah, he'd be the hot professor I have an affair with," you joke, throwing a wink in Aaron's direction. He blushes ever so slightly and shakes his head at you, a small smile gracing his face. You're pretty sure he has no idea what the houses are - the books didn't really come out until he was an adult, by which point you doubted he'd had the time or interest. You'd just have to make sure he read them alongside Jack so he got all the references. While you'd love nothing more than to have Jack be in Slytherin too so you can gang up on Aaron, you had a feeling that in this case, it would be very much like father like son.

Everyone goes to get ready, and you're standing in your bra and underwear, going through the closet to find something to wear. Aaron walks in wearing a black shirt that he hasn't buttoned up yet, as you're sifting through the hangers, holding a dress up to your body as you look at yourself in the mirror.

"You almost ready?" he asks, glancing from the pile of rejected dresses to your dejected face reflected in the mirror.

"I think I've outgrown clubbing attire," you sigh, placing the dress to the top of the pile.

"Let me help."

Aaron moves to the other side of the closet, going through a different row of outfits while you continue on with yours and reject another few.

"What's this?" he asks, holding up a hanger with a plaid skirt and blazer.

You look at him, noting the slightly dilated pupils and how his voice had taken on the slightly deeper quality it did when it was just the two of you. _Pretty sure I could get off from him just talking to me. Should try it sometime._

Smirking, you answer, "My old boarding school uniform. Should I pack that to bring back home?"

Aaron clears his throat before speaking. "That would be nice, yes." He hangs the outfit on the door to the closet so you wouldn't forget it.

_That would be nice._ There was something oddly endearing about the straightforwardness with which he spoke about things of this nature. You chuckle slightly, before edging towards him. "Am I going to need extra credit to pass the class, _Professor Hotchner_?" you ask teasingly, placing a hand to his warm chest, feeling his heart beat underneath.

Aaron rolls his eyes and huffs slightly before pecking your lips quickly. "Please. Like you'd need extra credit. You'd be the attractive grad student helping me with my research," he replies, grabbing your ass and causing you to yelp and consequently retaliate by pushing him into the wall and dragging his face down to yours.

That's what you liked about Aaron. Even for a fantasy, he wouldn't let you dumb yourself down.

*------------*

You'd managed to pick out a dress finally, and Aaron watches as you strut out of the bathroom, your hair pulled into a sleek ponytail, wearing a short emerald green dress that exposed quite a bit of leg. You'd donned tall strappy heels which he was sure you'd shed halfway through the night and insist on being carried by him. You might like feeling tall but you really hated being in heels for too long.

"So?" you ask, doing a quick twirl for his benefit.

"You look amazing," he tells you, grabbing your hand and spinning you around once more, before bringing it to his lips and sending little butterflies through your stomach. It was kind of astonishing that he could still have that effect on you with the smallest of gestures.

He keeps your hand in his as the two of you exit your room and join the others. JJ was the only one missing as she was making a final good night call to Henry and Will. You let go of Aaron to go rummage around at the bar and gathered up enough shot glasses for everyone.

"We're doing shots!" Emily exclaims, noticing what you're setting and coming around to help you.

"We're doing _shots_?" Derek groans, looking at you with some amount of trepidation.

"Yes, of course. We're all going clubbing together for the first time. We have to do this right," you tell him, pouring tequila into every glass and setting it on the counter. "Since when did you become an old man?"

"I promise to be extra slutty if you get me drunk enough," Penelope jokes, grabbing a glass and passing one along to both Spencer and Derek.

You pour out a shot of juice and hand that to JJ when she returns, and then quickly congregate everyone in the center of the living room, a shot of tequila in everyone else's hand.

Rossi clears his throat and raises his glass. "Here’s to cheating, stealing, and drinking. May you cheat death, steal hearts, and always drink with me."

With a resounding chorus of _Here Here_ you raise your shot glass and tip it back quickly. Aaron has his arm wrapped around your waist and he squeezes you when he sees you make a face at the taste. You look over to see his mouth pulled up in amusement and you can't help the smile that breaks out on your face despite the harsh taste in your mouth.

*------------*

Your photographer friend, Terry, had sent a limo to pick everyone up, and Aaron had seen the visible change in you as the car pulled up to the club. It was deafeningly loud outside and the flash of cameras could be seen everywhere. Morgan opens the door and exits first, helping the other girls out one by one, following by Reid and Rossi. Aaron looks back at you - you're sitting incredibly straight, your jaw is locked, and your eyes closed - he recognizes it as your way of preparing yourself for the onslaught. He reaches out and squeezes your hand. Opening your eyes, you smile slightly at him, indicating for him to exit first.

He steps out and is met with a sea of cameras and people. He turns back and offers you his hand, which you grab, before delicately standing up and out of the back of the car. Your face breaks out into a wide smile, your eyes big and sparkling. If he didn't know you better, he'd think it was real.

The rest of the team has already walked past a red carpet outside the entrance to the club. There was a line wrapped around the other side - people waiting to enter the club while cars of socialites arrived and had their photo taken, bypassing the line.

Aaron lets you walk ahead, and as you approach the red carpet, the calls of your name get louder and louder. There are lights flashing all around and you easily pose for photographers, smiling graciously and waving hello to people you recognize. He can't help but feel proud of you for handling this so well.

You spin and smile, doing your best to stay in the moment. Aaron is standing to the side, waiting for you to be done with the obligatory photographs. You can't help but be grateful to him for putting up with this - this entire thing was so entirely out of his wheelhouse that you'd half expected him to beg out entirely and go do something else with Rossi for the night. You hadn't expected him to tag along with you to a club opening and actually seem happy about being there.

You reach out to Aaron, indicating for him to join you for a quick photo. You're both dressed up and you didn't want to miss the chance of grabbing a picture of the two of you together - it was already such a rare occurrence. To your surprise, he actually joins you, placing his hand on your waist and smiling at you. He doesn't look at the cameras. He looks only at you.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he's grabbed you firmly by the waist and dipped you backwards, his lips meeting yours.

You couldn't believe it, Aaron had tipped you back, his warm lips meeting yours and for a moment the entire world is you two. There's no one else - no people screaming, no cameras, nothing but his hands around your waist holding you up and his lips married to yours in the sweetest of kisses.

As he pulls you back up, your heart threatens to beat out of its cage and you know you must have a dazed look on your face as you look up at him. He seems just as surprised by his actions as you, and you can't help the laugh that escapes you.

The two of you join the rest of the team. Your group is led inside to a private table and you speak briefly with the club owner whom you recognize but can't quite place.

The party is in full swing and the dance floor is positively crowded with people. You all squeeze into the seating area and Emily is quick to flag down a waitress to help out with drinks.

"Alright, well I came here to dance, and since I'm not drinking I expect the rest of you to drink my share," JJ says, standing and reaching for Penelope, who knocks back the shot in her hand before allowing herself to be led to the dance floor.

"Come on pretty boy. We better keep an eye on them." Derek drags Spencer with him and the two of them join the girls on the dance floor.

"You coming?" Emily asks, standing to dance as well.

"In a bit. You go ahead," you nod, indicating towards the spot where Spencer is embroiled in a JJ and Penelope sandwich while Derek does his best to avoid being approached by too many eager women. "Go save Derek."

She laughs, swaying as she stands, and walks over to join him.

You cross yours legs and lean into Aaron's side, still somewhat reeling from the kiss earlier outside. You can't help but love this side of Aaron - you'd feared that these parts of your life were entirely incompatible with him, but seeing him stride over and stand to take a few photos with you and be so publicly affectionate makes you think that maybe - just _maybe_ \- the two aren't as incompatible as you'd once thought. Not that this would be something that Aaron would want on a daily basis but you now knew that he could handle it in small doses.

"Alright kid," Rossi says, taking a sip of his scotch, "I think you promised to make this worth my while. And while seeing the little _show_ outside was definitely a _highlight_ ," Aaron colors ever so slightly at that, "I think I'm going to need a little something more."

You chuckle, moving your hand from the crook of Aaron's elbow to come and rest comfortingly on his thigh instead. On the team, it was really only Rossi who could talk about him like that to his face.

"Go order a drink at the bar," you tell him.

Rossi raises an eyebrow at you. "We have drinks already."

"Rossi, go. Trust me. Be sure to order something straight up. Also, you don't know me."

He shakes his head, but heeds your words. Standing, he settles his drink down and turns to walk over to the bar. Aaron looks at you quizzically but you merely shake your head. You watch and wait until he has the bartender's attention.

Standing, you stride over to where Rossi is and pause until you see what you were waiting for. "Oh my god! Are you David _Rossi_?!"

Rossi turns at your high pitched, exaggerated valley girl voice and you can see him stifle a laugh. Instead he simply nods, so you continue, elbowing the girl who was standing next to him.

"I am _such_ a big fan of your work! Serial killers are like, totally my obsession," you say, maintaining your fake voice and speaking far louder than necessary.

"Hm, well maybe the two of us can - "

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before the girl you'd elbowed past earlier appears on his other side and taps him on the shoulder to get his attention.

"You're an author?" she asks, her voice low and throaty, as she flutters are eyelashes and leans advantageously against the bar.

Rossi smirks at you and nods, before turning to her. You'd done your job.

You make sure to leave in a bit of a huff as though you're annoyed, and walk back to where Aaron was sat, deciding to ignore the vast span of seating available, and simply dropping yourself into his lap.

"That was impressive," he whispers into your ear, having seen the interaction at the bar go down even if he couldn't quite hear it. "But what about Strauss?"

You lean back to look at Aaron. "You do know that they aren't exclusive, right?"

He hadn't known that, and he turns to take in Rossi and the young girl who had chatted him up, leaning far closer to one another than strangers ought to. "I think I could've gone without knowing that, actually."

You laugh. "It's not for everyone."

At his raised eyebrow, you clarify, "It's not for me. I don't share."

He nods. Neither did he.

"Are you going to dance with me at some point tonight?" you ask, indicating to where the rest of the team was.

Aaron glances out at the dance floor. The median age in the room was roughly twenty five and the last time he was even near a club was when you'd gone undercover over a year ago. Watching you dance with strangers and Morgan had been one of the hardest things he'd had to do and that night had fueled quite a few of his dreams before he'd had the real thing next to him most nights.

He's realized that prior to this trip, there had been quite a few things about you and your life before the BAU that he hadn't been privy to. He knows that the reason behind it was partly due to you both - he's hesitant to ask about things you'd rather not relive, while you're reluctant to bring up parts of you that you'd let go of long ago. However, learning all of these new things about you - everything from the stalker and the photographers to how your taste in artwork had evolved and that you were an avid chess player (based on the well-worn, heavy chess set that sat on its own table in the main room of your penthouse) - all of these new things helped him better understand and truly appreciate the person he knew today. You'd conquered so much in far less years than him, dragged yourself through the dark abyss that had swallowed you in the aftermath of Julian's passing, and today stood by his side, embodying everything good he knew to be true in life.

He smiles and with a nod, he helps you get up and allows you to lead him out into the crowd. "You know I don't really _grind_ the way the kids do, right?" he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

You turn and smile at him. "I'll do all the work."

You guide him to the middle of the crowd, allowing the two of you some cover and anonymity from your coworkers. Aaron quickly realizes the advantages of having a girlfriend who used to be a dancer, as you turn in his arms, pressing your back to his front and bringing his arms to wrap around you. The music is pounding around the two of you and the throngs of people makes it feel like one could do almost anything and it would go unnoticed. You move your hips purposefully against him, helping guide his movements as well. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, his lips traversing down the side and to your collar bone and back again, while your hands roam - across his hands, his thighs, and back around through his hair, tightening your grasp and holding him close to you. It's euphoric - the darkness, and music, the lights, and you.

*------------*

You'd managed to round up everyone - even Rossi - and made it out of the club. Penelope had to be dragged away before she could start climbing on tables, with Emily goading her on and ready to join her. A sober JJ was no match for the two of them. Derek and Spencer had to both help Penelope out, while Rossi handled Emily. You'd seen her making out with some cute guy at some point during the night, so you're mostly just glad she hadn't let Eastwood get to her too much.

No one had wanted to end the night quite yet, so the entire group was squished together into a large round booth at the bar around the corner from your place. You'd ended up here many nights when you'd been unwilling to go back to an empty apartment by yourself; Tom, the bartender, your captive audience as you regaled him with stories of the night you'd had.

You're on the outside, next to Aaron, as Derek and Reid argue about some girl who had been hitting on them both and what her intentions might have been. Penelope was of the opinion that the girl had wanted a fun night with the both of them, at which Emily - still drunk - had chimed in saying that if it was on the table, she'd take them both up on it herself. Needless to say, she should be cut off from further alcohol consumption for the night.

"We should really examine why half of our casual conversations have to do with sex," you mumble under your breath so only Aaron can hear. You're pretty sober, having drank very little once you reached the club. You're hyper aware of how different of a position you hold now versus when you'd actually been a crazy party girl.

Aaron breathes out a quiet laugh. "I reckon it's because we're always on cases and no one's getting laid enough," he murmurs back, his eyes dancing in amusement as he half listens to the conversation at the table, the other half of his mind occupied by thoughts of taking you back to the penthouse and having his way with you. Nothing like having your girlfriend rub up against you for hours and not being able to do anything about it, to push a man to the brink of frustration. His hand has quite confidently rested on your thigh, fingers grazing the inside every so often. By now, he knows very well what little things get you worked up.

You extract yourself from him and grab the empty pitchers on the table, going to grab a second round. You needed a breather from Aaron for a moment anyways. The entire night had felt like extremely drawn out foreplay and you had to pace yourself. It was always so much better when it had been built up, and Aaron was far more patient and methodical than you ever could be.

You balance the two pitchers and slowly walk back to the table. You can feel Aaron watching you as you approach, his eyes growing darker. You know the outfit is something he isn't used to. Your wardrobe from before is definitely more on the risqué side and you've felt his scrutiny all night, eyes moving slowly over every inch of you, drinking you in. The only other time you've worn so little is when it's only the two of you behind closed doors. You typically made it a point to save some things for just him.

You set the pitchers down, turning up to meet his heated gaze. You bite your lip - it was crazy how entirely turned on you were. All you wanted was to get out of the bar. Or just drag him into the restroom. You're just contemplating suggesting that as you turn to sit down, when you feel someone approaching behind you.

"Hey Cap."

Your heart falters at the sound of the deep baritone voice behind you. You turn away from Aaron, a small gasp escaping you, your eyes widening as you take in all six feet four inches of the towering man standing behind you. Wearing jeans, a fitted t-shirt, his brown leather bomber jacket slung over one arm - his very essence invading your space. _It had been years._

Before you know it, you've propelled yourself up to him, arms around his neck and he is quick to wrap his arms tightly around your waist, nearly lifting you. He's warm and solid and oh so very familiar.

"John," you breathe out, as you slowly let him go, remembering the people seated at the table behind you.

He has a slight smile on his face as he releases you, that you can't help but return. "Since when did you start drinking beer?" he asks teasingly, gesturing towards the table where seven pairs of eyes are looking at the two of you with a great amount of interest.

You let out a breath of a laugh as you turn to face everyone else, a hand guiding John with you. "Guys, this is my friend John Hawthorne. John, these are my coworkers." They all smile - nodding or smiling at him. You shift closer to Aaron, placing a hand on his shoulder, "And this - "

"I'm sorry," John interrupts, "It's nice to meet all of you," he smiles politely around the table before turning to look at you, his face the picture of apology marred only by the urgency that has entered his tone. "Can we talk?" he asks, nodding towards the door leading outside.

You nod immediately, a rush of worry flowing through you. "I'll be back," you tell Aaron, your mind still slightly in shock as you feel John's warm hand at your lower back, helping guide you outside.

Aaron watches as John places his hand to your back, and as he does, Aaron's eye is caught by some writing on his hand. Just above the wrist, in a familiar black script, Aaron sees a date that he is all too familiar with. A date his lips have tasted, his fingers have traced, and his soul has imprinted into its very self. His eyes quickly move back up to you, but you've already turned away, allowing John to lead you away and out the door.

"Oh my goodness! The ass on that man!" Garcia exclaims as soon as you're out of earshot. "Who was that? Was that her _special friend_?" she asks, turning to Morgan. If anyone would know it would be either him or Emily and Emily looked just as intrigued as she did.

Morgan glances at Hotch quickly before nodding at Garcia, which results in a squeal that she quickly covers up - poorly - as a cough, when she catches Hotch's eye.

Prentiss - in her drunken state - hasn't quite caught on to the awkwardness that has settled on the table as everyone realizes that you had just walked out the door with the man who was - as far as they knew - your ex lover. "I would climb that man like a jungle gym," Prentiss declares loudly, knocking back the rest of her drink.

"Anyways," JJ interjects, thankfully sober, "we should figure out the plan for tomorrow - are we all going back to DC at the same time?"

With the topic of conversation sufficiently changed, Aaron's mind is free to think over what had just happened. He's figured out why the man appeared familiar. It was from the photos he'd seen from your cotillion. He hadn't been your date, he'd seemed older than you, much closer in age to Julian. However, it was unmistakably the same man. He looked at you in the same manner he had back then. The two of you had _matching tattoos_ of your brother's birthdate. He wonders why that hasn't ever come up before - that someone else's skin is marked to mirror yours.

He feels an odd unease start to fester within him and he keeps eyeing the door, as though expecting you to walk back in - hopefully alone - any second. He knows you feel safe with this man - you would've never gone off alone with him otherwise. With every minute that passes, Aaron feels an odd pit of dread growing in his stomach, despite knowing that you're more than capable of handling yourself. It was jarring how quickly his temperament had changed - the two of you had been teasing and touching all night and he had noticed the dark spark in your eyes when you'd returned, typically a sign that he was about to like whatever came out of your mouth next, very much.

Nearly thirty minutes pass and there's no sign of you, and the team is ready to head back to the penthouse to sleep. "Aaron, why don't you go find Y/N?" Dave says kindly. Aaron had been fidgety ever since you left. "We'll handle the tab and meet you out there."

He nods, grabbing his jacket, but not bothering to put it on. You hadn't brought one and would be freezing cold in that tiny little scrap you had called a dress. He leaves the warmth of the bar and pushes open the heavy door. Just across the street, he catches sight of you and John. You're facing one another, John's jacket is draped around your shoulders, the two of you visible in silhouette, backlit by the street lamp behind.

He's about to call out your name, when John leans down and capture your lips. It's as if Aaron was watching in slow motion - it feels like it goes on forever - the image of another man's lips on yours stamping itself to the inside of his head.

The door clangs shut behind him finally, drawing both of your attentions, and Aaron sees you turn and catch him staring at you in what was probably shock, but he's never had a stroke before and it could just as easily be that.

You look at him and he can't make out your face, but you turn away and say a few more words to John, who backs away from you slightly. Aaron is unsure of how to proceed. _What was the proper procedure when someone saw another man kiss their girlfriend. Was he supposed to storm over in a rage? Was he supposed to fight this man?_ Never before had he been confronted with the reality of such a situation. His rational side implores him to remain calm and simply wait and talk to you, while putting up a valiant fight against the demon within, who threatens to rip out from his chest and emerge into the world in order to avenge this complete betrayal.

He watches silently as you jaywalk across the street, quickly making your way towards him.

"Aaron," you begin, before you're even close enough. He's never heard his name from your mouth shaped in quite that way. It causes his stomach to twist uncomfortably and his mouth feels like cotton.

Before you can say anything further - before he can respond - the door to the bar opens again and the rest of the team comes ambling out.

Your eyes are trained on him, searching his face for something - a hint at a reaction, but he's been careful to school his expression through years of training. He can feel the fight inside him, uncertain at how he feels and doing its best to assess and analyze the situation instead of allowing himself to succumb to the baser emotions that rule his head when it comes to you. You'd left John immediately, you're back here standing in front of him and it is as though he could taste the acrid guilt flowing off of you. A part of him wants to reassure you immediately that it was alright and the two of you would talk about what happened and you would explain and everything would be fine. However, the larger part of him knows that there is more at play right now and he can't say or do anything until he knows for sure where he stands after having seen that.

"Later," he manages to get out, looking quickly from you to the team.

You would know better. Not in front of the team. Not in front of people.

You nod just barely and he can see a visible shiver run through you, having returned John's jacket to him before you crossed the street. He's reminded why he's carrying his own jacket. He walks over to you, draping it around your shoulders. He can see you almost recoil from the gesture despite how cold he knows you must be, before recalling the presence of everyone around you and thinking better of it.

Aaron looks up, over your head, and sees John still standing across the street where you'd left him. His eyes were trained on you alone.

*------------*

Aaron's jacket felt far too heavy around you. You couldn't believe what had just happened. Aaron wasn't supposed to see that. _He shouldn't have seen that!_ You can't even imagine what he's thinking at that moment. You'd crossed the street, fully prepared to talk to him, fully prepared to explain it all away - ease his worries and soothe any concerns he had. Because you were _his_.

As you'd approached, you'd caught a quick second of the look in his eyes, revealing exactly how confused and betrayed he felt, before he'd slipped on the mask that hid him away from you.

You're hit with a stab - you'd hurt him.

Everyone else appearing had thrown a wrench into the immediacy of your need to talk to Aaron. He'd still put his jacket around you. Still buttoned the top button for you. He wasn't raging mad - but you knew he wouldn't be. He wasn't a reactionary sort of person, but right now that might be better than nothing, you think.

_You hurt him._

He saw someone else kiss you. You know how you would've reacted if the tables were turned and yet, he was being calm. He was being calm in the way he was when he negotiates a hostage deal - overtly so to the point that nothing can shake him and all he becomes is a human risk calculator. His fury isn't a boiling rage; it's a burning frost, leaving piercing icicles in its wake.

_You hurt him._

It appears most everyone had sobered up considerably as you all walk the two blocks to your place. Your hands are shaking as your mind goes a mile a minute. John hadn't known - not that that would be of much consolation to Aaron - but he hadn't. You hadn't gotten a chance to tell him about Aaron and there had been a small part of you, once you were outside with John, that didn't quite wanted to tell him. You didn't think much good would come from him knowing you were happy with someone else. You couldn't have anticipated that he would kiss you. It had happened so quickly.

Derek holds the door open for everyone as you lead the group, waving everyone past security. In the elevator, you feel Emily standing right behind you instead of Aaron. He's at the opposite corner, not looking at you, but instead looking straight ahead. You feel another sharp pang.

_You hurt him._

As everyone exits the elevator, all you're hoping to do is head to your room so that you can talk to Aaron. However, you have no such luck.

"Hey, Y/N," Penelope asks softly, "was that your friend? Your friend from New York?"

You can tell she's merely curious. She doesn't know what happened. You were gone for so long, it makes sense that they'd all wonder. Sighing you turn and see that the rest of them seem just as interested in your answer as her. All with the exception of Aaron who's leaned against the wall before the hallway, leading to your bedroom. He appears entirely closed off and he doesn't so much look at you as he does look through you - like he doesn't even know you.

_You hurt him._

You sigh internally, knowing you need to talk to him as soon as possible, no matter how much you're beginning to dread it now. The fifteen minutes since you'd crossed the street and approached him afterwards felt like hours ago. You can't help but race through what he must be thinking - he'd seen someone who - if Derek had helped them piece it together - he knew to be the last person you'd been with before him. It was the first time he was meeting John and he had no idea who John was really. To come upon the sight of John kissing you - knowing Aaron, he's already thought through every piece of evidence available to him and come to whichever terrible conclusion was holding him as far away from you as possible.

However, there were other people present - people who supported you, cared for you, and who were all looking at you in question. You owed them the truth about what had happened. They didn't deserve to be lied to by you.

You nod slowly, very aware of everyone's attention on you. "Yes. That was John," you say, speaking carefully. "He's a friend - he was Julian's _best_ friend. We all grew up together. When he heard I was back in the city, he wanted to come and offer his - " you let out a breath and swallow, feeling completely overwhelmed by everything. "He wanted to offer his _regards_ on my father's death."

That catches Derek's attention. You can see him assess your words and hone in on _regards_. Regards and not condolences. "You told him," he says, his voice sharp. He's not asking. He knows you did. Derek stares you down - his expression a mixture of shock and judgement that you're not used to being on the receiving end of.

You're barely able to meet his eyes, so instead you slip out of Aaron's jacket and place it on the arm of the couch, despite how cold you feel. "Yes."

"Everything?" Emily asks, her face a mix of worry and the struggle to focus as she tries to comprehend what's happening through the haze of tequila still clouding her brain.

You nod again, feeling pinprick tears in your eyes that you're quick to dismiss. Only three other people in the world besides you knew what that meant, and they were all in that room. Now there was one more name on that list. You can't look at Aaron. You can't stand to see the disappointment in his face. Not right now. Not on top of everything.

"That was a classified case." Derek's voice holds the tinge of accusation.

You look from him to the rest of them. Rossi, Reid, JJ, and Penelope appear a little bit confused at Emily's question and you hope they won't think about it too much. Rossi probably suspects. You've often thought that he knows the truth about how your father died. Derek stands very tall, intimidatingly so. Emily is worried. You know she doesn't care if you told. Aaron won't look at you, his face betraying nothing.

You look around the room at all of them. They'd all risked their lives on that case. Emily, Derek, and Aaron had completely covered for you and helped you escape the worst of the aftermath of your father's death. Had they not helped you - _covered for you_ \- you definitely wouldn't be in the Bureau right now. They'd all kept a terrible secret for you and you had never once been investigated as a result.

It had been entirely different from when Aaron had killed Foyet despite his surrender - Aaron had brunt the professional consequences and nearly lost his job because of it. It had only been due to the committee understanding the charged nature of the event, combined with Aaron's otherwise impeccable reputation, that he had been allowed to stay. His had been in the heat of the moment while his dead wife lay in the other room. You had planned your killing.

You look at Derek and find yourself nodding. It was time for you to stop getting away with stuff - using people to shield you from the rightful reckoning. No one in the room should have to suffer through the culpability of protecting you. They didn't owe you that. If anything, your past indiscretions had proven you to be entirely undeserving of it.

"I know. I don't expect any of you to keep this quiet," you say, your voice shaking ever so slightly, hands bunched into tight fists. Steeling yourself, you continue, "John was the only person I had after Julian - the only person who also knew the truth and who was just as affected by his death as I was. He was there for me when I had absolutely no one. I felt like he deserved to know. However, I cannot expect the rest of you to either share my view on the matter or expose yourself to retribution for keeping this quiet. You should tell Strauss if you are at all uncomfortable with this."

As you finish, you look around the room. Your words have rendered all of them into a dumbfounded silence. They cannot understand how you could so plainly ask them to turn you in for your actions. However, they're unaware of the dam of guilt that had overflowed within you earlier when you'd caught sight of Aaron. Your actions - against him, against the team, against the Bureau - were entirely reprehensible. Whether they were intentional or not was of little concern. You would welcome punishment - not for the sake of penance, but because you deserved to suffer the consequences of your actions for once in your life.

You're unable to look at Aaron again. Usually you can see his love and adoration for you clearly in his profoundly brown eyes; his eyes were empty now. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him and be met by vacant eyes that left you feeling cold - your heart would splinter at the sight.

"Sugar," Penelope starts, breaking the silence and walking towards you slowly, the way one would with a frightened animal. Her voice is calm and soothing, designed to draw you in and allow her to help you. "No one here is going to say anything to Strauss. We trust you."

You want to recoil from her, the thrumming of blood pumping through your veins entirely too loud in your ears. "Don't do that," you tell her. "Do not make excuses for me. Do not make _exceptions_ for me. I did something that could potentially endanger all of you. It would not be fair to expect you to keep this quiet for me."

Penelope stalls on her way towards you, uncertain of how to proceed. She looks around at the rest of them, the only sound in the room stemming from the air conditioning turning on and the sound of your harsh breathing as you try your best to compose yourself and keep from caving in under the weight of your own judgement.

It's Rossi who speaks next, after looking around at the room, for a consensus - his eyes honed in on Aaron, standing uncharacteristically apart from you and silent in the face of your confession. "Family's the people you make exceptions for, kid," he says kindly, his mouth quirking up in a half smile as he walks past Penelope towards you.

You watch him approach. _Family's the people you make exceptions for. Family._

You look around at all of them - Derek, JJ, Emily, Spencer, Penelope - they all nod with him, even through their initial concerns and questions. They'd all seen you throw yourself at the mercy of the guillotine and they'd said no. Not a single one of them would allow that - not while they were around. You were theirs to protect.

A quiet sob escapes you, despite your efforts to keep it in. Your eyes are clouded by tears as Penelope reaches you and tucks you into her, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. One by one, they all approach you, offering a quick hug or a smile - reassuring you that it would be alright. They had your back, no matter what.

You're not sure you're deserving of such faith and trust from all of them.

"I think it's time we all went to bed," Rossi says quietly, as soon as Spencer lets go of you.

Everyone agrees and they all make their way down the hallway towards the bedrooms. Rossi lingers in the hallway for a moment, looking at both you and Aaron, a concerned look on his face, before he too opens the door to his bedroom and closes it behind.

If the rest of them had noticed Aaron's complete absence for your admission and subsequent plea, they hadn't let on. He'd stayed against the wall the entire time - through all of it, never once approaching you like the others.

It's just the two of you left now in the living room. You force yourself to look up to meet his eyes, but you don't get the chance to force words out of your mouth before he looks away. He turns and heads down the hallway, and you watch as he opens the door to the bedroom and enters, leaving the door open behind him.

_You hurt him._


	43. Meant To Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very nervous about this chapter, but I think it’s important nonetheless and I’m asking you to bear with me on it. I am very aware that this is an Aaron Hotchner story at its core, but I’d be remiss if I ignored the back story for a Reader I’ve come to really love and treasure. If it helps anyone, I picture John to look like Steve Rogers circa Winter Soldier.

Your mother was being impossible. Julian was escorting Elizabeth Abbott to her cotillion and everyone in the family was going except for you, which was completely unfair! You'd begged and begged the entire month, any chance you had with her, and she had yet to relent. You'd been on your absolute best behavior, you'd maintained your spot at the top of your class, and you'd even landed the lead role in the Nutcracker. Yet, your mother was of the opinion that little girls didn't belong at formal events.

Dom was back for his winter holidays and everyone was under the same roof again after nearly six months. Your Papa had been away on business for the past five weeks and there was a chance he hadn't yet spoken to your mother about the cotillion, so taking a risk, you asked him if you could attend.

He fixed you with his thinking look as you waited nervously, peeking over at your mother who seemed completely irritated with you going over her head.

"Have you kept up with what I taught you last time for your chess game?" he asks finally.

You nod. "Of course Papa.

"Good, then pick one of your brothers to play. If you win, then you may attend."

This was better than you could have hoped for. You quickly exchange a look with Julian who winks at you, bypassing your mother's glare.

"I'll play Julian," you say, standing to set up the board by the fireplace.

Dom, who had till that point been absorbed in his own business, chooses then to tune in to the rest of the family. "Oh come on! Julian's just going to let her win."

"No he's not!" you insisted, looking at your Papa. Dominic was being annoying for no reason and he would try his best to beat you on purpose. _Why did he even care if you attended or not?_

Your Papa looks between you and Dominic, and it must have been the fact that Julian avoided his eyes altogether that convinced him to listen to Dom.

"It should be a real victory, don't you think?" he asks you, fixing you with his stern face that always made you feel like he knew everything you were trying to hide from him.

"Yes Papa," you responded glumly, as you continued to set up. Dom and his smug face got up to take the seat opposite yours.

However, you needn't have worried. You hadn't lied when you told your father that you'd kept up with the chess lessons. You'd been practicing nearly every day, on your own and with Julian and his friends. Dominic lost far too quickly for being nineteen years old, playing his nine year old baby sister.

He stared at the board after you said checkmate for a few minutes, as if he couldn't believe that had just happened. As though you'd tricked him. Before you could really gloat in your victory, he roared and flipped the board over. You quickly scrambled to get away from him as he came at you with his arm raised.

"Hey, man, she's nine! What the hell!" Julian had ran to get between the two of you and Dominic shoved him, throwing him off balance, before he swung at his face.

You'd run to hide behind your father's chair as Dominic continued on towards you, having punched Julian in the face and knocked him backwards. It took your father standing up and being absolutely furious, for Dom to back off. He threw you a nasty look and strode out of the study, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Julian stood up, and you gasped loudly when you saw his face.

Your mother turns to you, absolutely furious. "You see! Now look what you've done. Your brother is supposed to be an escort - how is he meant to do that with a black eye?"

You turned to look at your father who only shook his head before walking out after Dom, leaving you to deal with your mother's wrath on your own.

_How on earth was this your fault?_

However, it had all been worth it, because here you sat at your very first ball. You'd had your dress picked out for weeks in the vain hope that you'd be allowed to go and it had paid off. Your legs dangled from the chair as you sat between your parents, your mother constantly fussing with your dress and chastising you to sit up straight. As the music swelled, you watched all of the girls walk down the steps in their white gowns, their fathers handing them off to their dates. Julian met Mr. Abbott at the foot of the steps and accepted Elizabeth from him. Your mother had managed to hide the black eye with some concealer and your father had knocked some sense into Dom, who was sulking at the bar in the back with some of his buddies.

Then there he was. Escorting beautiful Cecelia Rhodes, Johnathan Hawthorne walked past your table with her on his arm and as he caught your eye, he threw you a wink and a grin. You sighed to yourself, smiling wide as you watched him. John Hawthorne with his all-American good looks, amazing hair, and a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. He was, by every definition of the word, _perfect_.

John led Cecelia to stand near Julian and Elizabeth - you knew that the two of them had practiced the dance all week with one other. You'd supervised. They better not mess it up and make you look like a bad teacher. However, you needn't have worried. Both Lizzie and Cece should thank you that they had the best dates there. All of the other boys messed up. A lot.

Your mother had given you a ten o'clock curfew and it was already nine thirty by the time the dessert was served, so you really didn't have too much time left before Mrs. Hernandez came to pick you up. Your parents had abandoned you a while back, so you were left to entertain yourself. You looked up and saw Julian talking to some boy from his class. It looked like him and Elizabeth were done dancing for the night, because her and Cece were sitting at a different table with some other girls. The music was still playing and there were a few of the older couples on the dance floor, swaying along to the music.

"Hey Cap."

You turn and see John coming up behind you and dropping into your father's chair. You giggled as you turned to him and said hello. You always loved it when he called you that. It made you feel special. He'd told you that you reminded him of one of the best chess players of all time, Capablanca, because the two of you both finished off your opponents lightning fast. He'd started calling you Cap because of it, insisting that one day you would be better than him. He also made it a point to play you anytime he was over, and while he had yet to win, he kept trying.

"You looked really good out there," you tell him, a slight color flushing your cheeks.

"Well, I had a pretty good teacher," he replies, smiling at you with his radiant smile that never failed to take your breath away.

"That's true."

He laughs, before swiping your dessert plate and finishing off the rest of your cake while you glare at him. But you're not really all that upset. It's John. You couldn't ever be all too mad at him.

"What're you doing here? Besides eating my cake," you ask him, indicating to the rest of his classmates who were scattered between a few tables in their own groups. None of the rest of them were sitting around with the baby.

"Well, I couldn't end the night without dancing with the prettiest girl here, now could I?" He smiles and offers you his hand, which you grab excitedly. No one had asked you to dance yet and it would be a shame to not dance even once at your first ball ever.

John leads you out to the dance floor and offers to let you stand on his feet, but you were determined to do this right. You weren't given the role of Clara for nothing - you earned that! He held both of your hands in his due to the height difference, and the two of you moved along to the music in formation.

"Hey John," you said, looking up at him shyly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you love Cece?"

He's quiet for a second as he thinks over your question. "Well, she is my girlfriend," he says after a few seconds, "but it's still new and we're figuring things out."

You nod. You'd expected as much - John was good at giving the right answers and he never lied to you if he could help it.

"Do you think you'll marry her one day?"

He laughs a bit at that. "Probably not. She's just a girl I'm dating in high school. Not many people end up with their high school sweetheart."

You smile at that. He's right. Most people grow up, move away, go to college and meet their wives and husbands there. Your parents had met one another in college, after all.

"Good," you tell him, allowing him to spin you around his finger.

He smiles a bit weirdly at that, his eyebrows going up a bit. "Why is that good?" he asks.

You're not sure if you should tell him. It is a little embarrassing. But then, if you didn't tell him, then he might pick some girl - Cece or otherwise - and that would cause other sorts of problems.

"Promise you won't laugh?" you ask him. You have to be sure that he wouldn't make fun of you for this. That would break your heart if he of all people laughed.

"I promise," he says, linking your pinkies with his.

You take a deep breath, before you look right at him. "Because one day, I'm going to marry you. And we'll get married by the lake where Auntie Amelia got married and I'll get to wear the biggest white dress ever. You'll wear a blue suit because blue goes well with your eyes. It'll be perfect."

You expect him to laugh even though he said he wouldn't. But then, John really isn't like that. He kneels down so he can look at you better, not caring that the music is still playing and everyone else is still dancing. He looks you right in the eye, completely seriously, and sticks out his hand for you to shake. "You got yourself a deal, Cap."

*------------*

It's Thanksgiving Break and his parents are on business in Asia so Julian had invited him to spend the holiday with his family. Dominic and his girlfriend would be there, and Julian had told him that you were dreading an entire week of playing nice with Dom so that he can show off the family and charm the pants off of the Huntingtons' daughter. John would be a welcome buffer.

He'd accepted mostly so he could avoid being the only person left on campus, and the alternative was to go home with the new girl he'd started seeing and he worried that meeting the parents so soon would send the wrong message. Caitlyn was nice and all but he didn't see much of a future there. She was bright in the way that girls tend to be when they're told they need to go to college to secure a husband. She could carry on an intellectual conversation for around five minutes, until you dug deeper and realized all she knew was the reader's digest version.

That's how he finds himself in Connecticut, sneaking out with you and Julian to the pool. He'd spent the day hunting with the men, and while your mother had thought you were going out to ride, you'd actually snuck along with them. Your father had merely shook his head before grabbing an extra rifle for you. He knew you didn't really want to hunt, you just wanted to be included. You kept conveniently missing easy shots and he'd gone to the shooting range with you too many times to believe you'd gotten that bad overnight. When he'd quietly called you out on it, you told him you didn't feel comfortable eating Bambi for dinner. He'd had to agree with you, so now your father thought he was a terrible shot as well.

It's been a while since he'd spent so much time with you, as he'd been away at college or doing internships. The last time, you'd been around thirteen and it had been his and Julian's second winter holidays when both of your families had booked a stay in Gstaad. You'd fallen ill and had spent most of the time sniffling and coughing in bed. Him and Julian would hit the slopes in the morning and then spend the rest of the day drinking hot chocolate and watching movies in your room while Julian complained about you getting your germs all over him. You talked to him about all the classes he was taking and the two of you had spent a memorable afternoon debating the merits of the death penalty. He was going to be using all of it for the paper he had due.

It's late at night and the moon is overhead. Julian had excused himself to go raid your father's liquor cabinet and in the distance you two can hear Dom and his girlfriend Katie fighting. Your mother had made some comment about her clothing and it had obviously gotten to her. She'd have to grow a thicker skin if she was going to last.

"Hundred dollars says they break up by Christmas." You look at him, your face betraying your glee at your brother's misfortune.

He laughs. "You're on." He had a feeling Katie was more resilient than most. She hadn't blown up at your mother to her face. She'd waited until it was just Dom and her. He had a feeling Dom would be making it up to her for a while, though, if he wanted it to last.

The two of you are sat at the edge of the pool, your feet dangling in the water. It's a good thing the pool is heated, because swimming in late November in Connecticut and dying as a result of freezing to death really wasn't his life plan. He looks at you, playing with the edge of the sweatshirt you'd borrowed from him when you'd first come over to Julian's room where the two of them had been hanging out. You'd persuaded them to come out with you and had asked to borrow something to throw on top since it was freezing outside. The Columbia law school hoodie enveloped you completely, nearly at your knees.

"What's going on with you lately?" he asks, turning towards the house and seeing the lights go on in your father's study, indicating that Julian had started raiding the alcohol.

"Well, high school sucks like you said it would," you reply with a bitter note to your voice. He knew that you hated going to boarding school and had thrown a fit when your parents had decided to send you. Neither Dom nor Julian had gone to boarding school, and you'd protested against it vehemently. However, your father hadn't wanted to leave you on your own in Connecticut and with him traveling so much and your mother being away as well, they wanted to give you a semblance of structure. He wasn't sure if he agreed with it either - he knew you'd be much happier going to Hopkins like the rest of them had rather than go boarding school hopping to whichever continent your father decided to have business in that year.

"Have you at least made new friends this time?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "If by friends, you mean guys named Brad who ask me out and then when I say no, they go and tell the entire school I slept with them, then sure yeah. I've made friends."

He raises his eyebrows at that. There wasn't a chance Julian knew about this, because if he did, Brad would be history.

"What'd you do about that?" he asks, wondering if he needs to go teach this Brad guy a thing or two about how to treat girls right.

"Told anyone who asked, that Brad isn't particularly well-endowed," you tell him, the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

"Good girl."

"I can handle it, it's not that I can't. It's just…I can't wait to be in college and not have to worry about this sort of crap."

He hums in agreement. College really was the great equalizer - or as much as it can be when everyone has the exact same blue blood upbringing as you do. He'd tried to make friends that weren't from his usual circles back when he'd done undergrad at Princeton and had hit it off with a few kids on scholarship. It was difficult however, when they either wanted to pay their own way or wouldn't let him help out. Made things awkward.

"Can I tell you something?" you ask. He notices that your fingers fidget with the ends of his sweatshirt - he's always found that little tell of yours endearing.

"Of course."

"I'm the last girl in my year to not have kissed anyone. Even Siena Robertson made out with Jacob Pemberley on the soccer field right before the break, so now I'm the last one left."

You look miserable admitting that and he feels for you - being a teenager and feeling like you're behind on stuff like that is its own brand of misery.

"It'll happen when the time is right," he says, hoping that's of some relief. However, even he knows how hollow his words sound. They're likely of little solace when you're a fifteen year old girl stuck feeling like there's something wrong with you for not having achieved these milestones.

He looks over at you and you had an odd look on your face, as though you're conflicted with something and struggling to really put your thoughts into words. He nudges you with his shoulder, moving his head up as if to ask _, What else is going on in that head of yours?_

"I don't want my first kiss to be some guy named Brad," you admit, not looking at him, instead staring resolutely into the pool. The chilly air outside blows your hair ever so slightly, and he watches it move rather than look at you.

"Who do you want it to be?" he asks quietly.

You turn to him, your doe eyes wide with the hint of tears, biting your lip, and looking at him like you're not sure why he even bothered asking. As if he didn't know.

He feels his heart clench but he forces himself to look away from you, shaking his head as he does. "You're a kid," he says, the hair at the nape of his neck standing straight up as another chilly wind rushes over the both of you, blowing more leaves to the ground in a swirl.

He'd hoped that would be it. That you'd realize the absurdity of what you're saying.

"Please John." You plead, your hand reaching for his, sending a shiver down his spine. Your fingers are like icicles and he can't help himself from wrapping your hand in his, if only to warm it up.

"Julian would kill me," he tells you, wondering why that was the only thing he could think of to say to you. There's other reasons of course - it's wrong, so _very_ wrong. He's a grown man and you're a kid. You deserve to have your first kiss be someone who you love - at least puppy love. Not like this.

"Julian doesn't have to know."

His jaw clenches as he looks down at you, your eyes fixed at where his hand is holding yours.

"Please," you try again, squeezing his hand to force him to meet your eyes. "Please don't let my first kiss be some guy named Brad."

He knows what you're saying. Don't let your first kiss mean nothing. Don't let it be meaningless and awful and only because you don't want to feel behind the rest of your classmates. Because he knows, that if this is how you feel already, you won't waste any time to make sure you're up to the mark, the second you get back to school. It would be rushed and sloppy and some kid named Brad would go around the school telling everyone he'd managed to snag you, and this time he wouldn't be lying.

He didn't want that for you. You deserved better.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he turns to look back at the study - the lights are still on, meaning Julian still hasn't left. The next second he's moved his hand out of your grasp, only to wrap it around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his head bent down to capture your lips with his, swallowing your surprised noise. Soft, plush, pliant, perfect. It's a quick press of lips on lips. Chaste, almost, if it weren't for the fact that he'd practically grabbed you like a rag doll, nearly to his lap. He won't take it further, though. He shouldn't. He moves away on a sigh. Your eyes are closed, your long lashes kissing your cheeks, your face illuminated by the moonlight.

"Thank you," you breathe out, your eyes still closed.

He knows he'll remember this moment forever.

There's the sound of the back door opening, and the two of you quickly move away from one another. Your eyes meet his and you smile just barely at him and he has a hard time not smiling back.

Julian returns, bottle of scotch in one hand and a bottle of Moët in the other. You refuse to drink scotch still, insisting it burns too much, so the champagne is always for you.

*------------*

It’s over a year later when he finds himself in Connecticut once again. His mother had asked him why he’d come just for cotillion season, and he tells her he'd missed her and his father and wanted to see them before buckling down for finals. He can't tell them the truth. That you'd called and asked him to.

"You know, it is quite unfair for you to have gotten to dance with me at your cotillion, but for me to be denied the same pleasure at mine," you'd said when you'd called him.

His face had split into a grin as he stood up to take your call, leaving his date sitting by herself. His mother had set him up with Arthur Cafferty's daughter who was studying fashion at NYU. Needless to say, the two of them had nothing in common and after three dates with the girl, he had really only asked her out this final time to break it off nicely.

"When is it?" he'd asked, taking his planner out of his bookbag. He hadn't even bothered to go home and change for this date. One would think the girl would take a hint and realize he wasn't interested.

You told him the date and he said he'd make it work. Your resulting squeal was so high pitched, he had to move the phone away from his ear.

"You're sure it's not too much trouble?" you ask, once your initial excitement wears off.

"Anything for my future wife," he jokes. "I am nothing if not a loving and doting husband."

Your twinkling laugh carried him through the misery of breaking up with the Cafferty girl.

He'd pushed off a couple of study groups, spoken to his Tort Law professor about making up the in-class debate he would miss, and caught the train up from the city. Julian had flown back from Europe, and the two of them had tagged along with you and your mother to your final dress fitting so that they could get their tux fittings done at the same time. The seamstress had you try on your dress and you looked like a ball of cotton, the swathes of tulle falling around you. You'd patiently stood while the lady made some last minute adjustments, both him and Julian poking fun at you while she did.

Once your mother left to go deal with the payment, you quickly moved to get out of the dress, grabbing another with you on the way into the fitting room. The seamstress dragged him and Julian up onto the fitting platforms next, tutting about them both having grown far too much since the last time. He detects movement in the mirror he's standing in, and you've emerged wearing another dress. He turns towards you, taking it in.

This dress flows down to your feet, draping against you as if it was made for you. As you take a step forward, his eye is caught by the deep slit to the side which exposes your leg with your movement. You know he's watching, so you turn for his benefit, revealing that there's no back to this dress. There's just the smooth skin of your back, fully exposed - his eyes wander down, catching the visible dimples at your lower back. He has to take a second and remind himself that Julian is there too, but you'd seen his reaction - he's sure of it. You'd taken his breath away.

"Mother will obliterate you if she sees you wearing that," Julian warns, moving towards you to help you spin around in it.

As if summoned, your mother reappears, seemingly aghast at your dress, and quickly ushers you away from view. Neither him nor Julian can make out what the two of you are saying, but its obviously an argument. When you emerge, you look entirely put out and he catches your eye, rolling his eyes in sympathy and drawing a small smile from you.

The next night, Julian and him drive you to the venue, dropping you off, before going to meet up with some old friends in the area. You were head debutante and had to coordinate everyone else along with the cotillion Chair, and thus were arriving nearly six hours prior to the event.

It's dark by the time everyone has arrived at your ball. It's decidedly _your_ ball, that much is obvious. You'd had the venue changed from the usual ballroom at the country club to the old Haverford Mansion with its vaulted ceilings and grand staircase. He briefly wonders how you'd managed to swing that - the Chairs are usually older women who rule these events like their life depends on it. Then again, you could charm anyone if you really wanted to.

Julian and him find themselves at a table with both of your families. Dom had brought Katie, who had stuck around despite your mother. You'd handed over the cash to him from that bet happily enough. Katie was great. You didn't think Dom deserved her and you were quite vocal about your opinion.

"Julian, my boy!" John's father exclaims, sitting down across from the two of them, "When's your next show coming?"

"Oh I've only just started on the new collection, Mr. Hawthorne, so not for a while. But I'll be sure to give you first peek when it's ready" Julian tells his father. The Hawthornes made it a point to always grab a piece from any collection Julian painted, his mother fancying herself a patron of the arts.

His mother briefly asks him and Julian why neither of them could ever manage to bring dates to such events and all of their classmates are getting married around them. John of course knew the reason why Julian never brought dates - his dates tend to wear suits instead of ballgowns and it wasn't the kind of attention he wanted brought to his life. Why he never seemed to have a date, however, was a very good question. One that could be answered if anyone were to remember the time he had brought a real date. Lindsey Carlyle had left last Thanksgiving when everyone had congregated at his family's brownstone, in a huff, claiming he wanted to spend more time with a sixteen year old girl rather than her.

"Remind me to tell my sister she owes me for making me sit through another one of these functions around all these people," Julian mutters to him, tugging at his collar.

John stifles a laugh. He was sure Julian would think of some manner of having you make it up to him - likely by simply having you spend the summer with him gallivanting around Europe. Julian didn't have it in him to truly be upset with you.

"I don't know how she talked _you_ into coming, but she's had you whipped forever, so I guess I'm just glad I'm not here alone."

He rolls his eyes, elbowing Julian. It's no secret that he lets you boss him around - always has, ever since you were little.

Everyone quiets down as the music begins and the Chair comes to announce each girl. He knew you'd be last, being the head. To the side, all of the dates are standing, awaiting the arrival of the girls. Your father is upstairs, with the other fathers to the right of the staircase. One by one the girls are called, the Chair talks about each of their accomplishments as she announces them and their fathers walk them down the steps, to be handed off to the teenage boys in tuxes.

The music changes as it's your turn prompting him and Julian to exchange a look.

"Does the head deb usually get different music?" he leans over to ask Julian.

Julian shakes his head, his lips pressed tightly together in a way that John can tell he's trying hard not to smile and incur his mother's wrath.

The Chair begins to list your litany of accomplishments as your father walks out from the right and awaits you. He sees you emerge, and a collective hush falls over the crowd. You aren't wearing one of the regulation cotillion dresses like every girl before you. You're wearing the dress that had taken his breath away yesterday. There's a smirk planted quite firmly on your face as your father takes your hand and helps you float down the stairs.

John is positive your father's grip on you had been iron tight in reaction to your dress. Your date - a boy named William who John knew only vaguely - looks elated however. He helps you onto the dance floor and the music changes once again, with all of the couples dancing. John sees Julian's fists tighten as William's hands sit a little lower on your back than they should, and your father doesn't bother coming to the table, instead making a beeline to the bar.

"She's insane," Julian whispers out of the corner of his mouth, the both of them watching you with some amount of awe. No one did this at a cotillion. _No one._

"I'll buy you that brush set you've been eyeing if your mother manages to drink less than five vodka sodas tonight," he tells Julian, the two of them grinning at one another.

Your mother throws a glare at the both of them as she knocks back her drink.

"No deal," Julian whispers back. "I'm going to lose that in the next ten minutes."

Turning their attention back towards you, they both watch as you twirl around in William's arms. The first dance is endless and at some point your father made it back to the table, carrying a drink in each hand. Your mother gets up when your father returns, the two of them having a quick, quiet exchange, at which Julian rolls his eyes.

However, as the second song draws to a close, John finds himself standing and making his way towards you. It really should be your father or one of your brothers cutting in for the first time, but he figures he should spare you their reactions as long as possible. He reaches you and William, towering over the boy as he approaches, and taps him on the shoulder to cut in. William appears a little annoyed but still hands you over, turning to walk to the sidelines.

He turns to look at you - you're sporting a smirk a mile wide, your eyes twinkling. You're pleased he was the one who cut in first.

"What a surprise seeing you here, Mr. Hawthorne," you drawl, humor coloring your voice.

"Well, I had to make sure I danced with the prettiest girl at the ball, now didn't I?" he replies, reaching for your hand and placing his other to your waist. You jump ever so slightly at the touch of his warm fingers against your skin and he has to disguise his laugh as a slight cough. When you place your other hand to his shoulder, it was as though an electric current ran through him.

The music transitions seamlessly and he draws you close into a waltz. He's highly aware that the two of you have nearly a hundred eyes on you and he can tell you're loving it.

"Are all the biddies clutching their pearls in horror?" you ask him.

"Why'd you pick this dress?" he asks, instead of answering your question. You already knew the answer.

"You liked it, didn't you?"

He nods. He had liked it. However, that didn't answer his question, so he looks at you, eyebrow quirked, imploring you to explain further.

With a slight roll of your eyes, you huff delicately. "I'm tired of being the good girl, the perfect girl. I wanted to turn some heads. I think we can both agree that I have."

"Your mother is going to kill you," he murmurs next to your ear, a smirk matching yours on his face. You had indeed turned heads. Some more than others.

"Oh please. Did you know, yesterday, she told me that I was far too chubby to wear a dress like this."

He starts to disagree with that assessment - you were anything but and the dress fit you like a glove as though it were commissioned for you.

"It's okay," you reassure him. "She's just upset she can no longer pull off something like this."

He laughs at that.

He twirls and spins you out, before catching you in his arms again.

"You look beautiful," he tells you looking right into your eyes, as though compelled to.

The faintest of colors graces your cheeks and you look bashfully (for the first time that night) away from him, smiling.

"Thank you."

The music changes again and he's almost worried that someone is going to steal you away from him, yet no one does. He meets Julian's eye above your head, and his friend looks to be talking his parents down from making a scene. Julian gives him an exasperated look as though to say, _You see what I put up with because of her._

He looks back at you, shaking his head. "You're trouble, you know that?"

"You love trouble," you tell him, your eyes shining, smirking up at him.

He can't help himself from smirking right back. "You're a tease," he whispers back his fingers caressing your back, before he can catch himself. _You're too young_ , even though you may not look it anymore.

As though sensing his change in mood, you lean up to him, reaching his ear. "Don't worry. I know that we can't. That _you_ can't."

He looks down at you, meeting your gaze, reassured that you understand. He nods, smiling his gratitude that you understand. He can't have this seem in any way improper. He's set to take the bar. He's set to clerk for McGuire. However your quiet words have their desired effect, and he can feel himself relaxing, comfortably dancing with you in his arms.

As he continues to lead you around the dance floor, he's becoming convinced of one thing - if tonight is anything to go on, he's going to want to fulfill his end of the deal.

*------------*

After your cotillion, he'd gone back and started studying for the bar - head down night after night. He couldn't afford distractions.

He got a call the day you got your Harvard acceptance letter. You received a bouquet of dahlias and a shipment from Laduree the following day, much to the collective jealousy of every one of your dormmates.

The day he passed the New York state bar, you were his first phone call.

You were graduating. You were graduating and you would be an adult in the eyes of your families and the law. The two of you had already planned an entire summer country hopping across Southeast Asia with Julian in tow. John would be lying if he said he was anything less than ecstatic.

Julian had uncharacteristically offered to pick him up from Heathrow instead of simply sending a car. Assuming he wanted to talk through the details of the trip the three of you were headed out to the following week, John threw his bag into the back cheerfully and got into the passenger seat. Europe was the only place he trusted Julian to drive. Getting in the passenger seat with Julian at the wheel in the states was the equivalent of signing a death wish.

"How was the flight?" Julian asks, merging across the lanes and pissing off some cabbies on the way.

"Fine," John replies, taking stock of his friend. He hadn't seen Julian since the cotillion early in the year and he couldn't help but notice that Jules looked thinner. His already lanky frame was positively beanstalk-like. "What's been up with you?"

Julian glances at him quickly, before turning his attention back to the front. "Anthony and I broke up," he says quickly, as if simply trying to get it out of the way.

Well, that explained the weightloss. Julian was a true artist at his core. He insisted that pain was meant to be felt. "I'm sorry man. What happened?"

"He took me to meet the parents. Then he wanted to meet mine. We fought. He issued an ultimatum. Here we are."

John nods sympathetically. Telling the parents was out of the question. Neither of your families were the kind who would be supportive and understanding. Julian stood to lose quite a bit if he chose to be honest.

"Y/N noticed too," he says, referring to his own frame.

"You should tell her at least." This was an old discussion for them. John insisted that you should know. That you wouldn't care nor tell anyone. However, Julian's fear - fear of losing you and fear of being ousted - overpowered any rationale he was able to provide.

Julian shakes his head. "Pretty sure my father has got his claws deep in there by now. I just told her I was doing an experiment on the body's reaction to starvation in order to channel it into my new piece."

John breathes out a laugh at that. "She buy it?"

"No, but our family's good at the whole Don't Ask Don't Tell thing. Pretty sure she's got secrets of her own she doesn't want anyone to know."

He nods, feeling the guilty coil of lying to Julian rouse itself once again. He'd beat himself up about it quite a bit after he'd kissed you by the pool, knowing Julian would kick the absolute shit out of him if he knew. He might not be able to take John on physically, but it wasn't as though John would be fighting back exactly.

"Speaking of," Julian begins, his voice low and quiet, yet assertive in a manner that reminds John of your father and his, "we need to talk about her."

John crosses his eyes over to look at his friend, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. _He couldn't possibly know anything_. "What about her?" he asks, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

"Don't do that with me man. You might think you're fooling the rest of the world, but you're talking to someone whose entire life is a lie. You think I don't know _pining_ when I see it?" Julian sounds less angry than he should, John thinks. If anything he sounds resigned. Reluctant to be having this conversation at all.

"I'm sor -"

"It doesn't matter." Julian cuts him off. "I don't care if something happened. What I need you to do is promise me that nothing ever will."

"I don't - "

"Let me make it as plain as possible," Julian says, his mouth a straight line, hands gripped tight around the steering wheel. "It's me or her. You choose to pursue this thing, take it any further, then that's it. You'll have made your choice."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing. Never - not when he'd first kissed you, not when he'd danced with you, not when he'd dreamed of… - had he thought that there would be a chance of him being at this point. This awful point where he's forced to choose between you and Julian. How was he supposed to choose between his best friend and you - how could he possibly be expected to make that decision. He never thought Julian of all people would ask this of him. He expected a beating, a cold shoulder for a couple of days - but at the end he expected it to work out. _How could it not?_

"So you're issuing an _ultimatum_?" he asks, swallowing the anger he can feel bubbling underneath.

Julian doesn't even turn to look at him. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Just because you're miserable, you're setting out to make everyone else around you feel the same way?" he asks, ugly malice coloring his voice as he turns to look away from Julian. He couldn't stand to look at him at this moment.

"Don't make this about something it isn't. I'm looking out for my baby sister. She deserves to have a college experience that isn't tied to some older guy that's only going to make her feel guilty about experiencing the same stuff he did, but tenfold."

"I wouldn't do that to her," John says quietly. He can't believe Julian would even think that about him. That he would in some way hold you back from having anything you wanted.

"You might not, but she'd do it to herself _for_ you," he says quietly. John can see his hands tremble ever so slightly at the wheel.

"So that’s it?"

"Yeah." Julian breathes out a sigh and turns down the street towards your school. "That's it."

The rest of the car ride passes in tense silence.

You were valedictorian, the cord hanging down your neck signifying you as such. When you'd told him that, he'd asked if you were giving a speech but you'd told him you could care less about standing up in front of people you're unlikely to see again and talking about the wonderful experiences and memories - it rang of fakery and you hadn't wanted to end on such a false note. You'd excused yourself from consideration, so the class president gave the speech instead.

John sat with your family. Julian's words still rang in his head and he was finding it difficult to focus on much of anything. He followed everyone else's lead, clapping when appropriate, while his mind was miles away.

Once the ceremony was over, he sees you making your way through the crowd towards everyone - eyes shining, hat askew, hair flowing behind you, the largest smile he's ever seen firmly in place. You hug your parents first, then Julian.

"John!"

You approach him for a hug and he finds himself turning just barely to meet Julian's eyes. He hugs you from the side, arm loosely around your shoulders, eyes barely meeting yours - over before he knows it. Completely unlike any other hug the two of you have shared.

You let go slowly, the confusion clearly painted on your face as you look up at his face to figure out what was wrong. He sees you look from him, follow his gaze to Julian, and then back to him.

_You know._

He's not sure how he gets through the celebration dinner afterwards. Words sit oddly in his mouth and he is mostly silent throughout. He can't keep himself from watching you. You're pretending everything is fine. It's your graduation and this should've been a good day. A happy day. And somehow he's pushed you into pretending.

It's late that night when there's a quiet knock at his door and the knob turns before he can say anything. He knows it’s you.

"Hey," you say, closing the door behind you. You're dressed in a little pajama set - navy blue with polka dots, the shorts covering you decently. It's _cute_ , he finds himself thinking.

He gets up to sit at the edge of the bed, not trusting himself to say anything. He only watches as you walk and sit on the chair in the corner, instead of on the bed next to him, eyes trained on him.

"Julian said no, didn't he?" you ask, your voice smaller than he's used to.

He nods.

You're sitting so far away. He sees you swallow and look away from him. It's quiet for a couple of minutes as you look out the window, processing what he's told you.

"Maybe it's for the best," you whisper, turning back to look at him.

_How could the best be anything but you?_

But it's his job to be the adult - to be the reasonable one. He can't deny that there's some merit to what Julian said even if he did do it as an ultimatum.

"You'll get to enjoy college. Live it up. Go to frat parties and get drunk and not worry about some older boyfriend waiting on you or judging you."

You laugh softly at that, rolling your eyes delicately. "Please. You and I both know that you'd just tag along."

He smiles. He would.

"You should date other people. You should experience love and heartbreak and all the stuff in between with someone who hasn't known you forever. It'll be new and exciting - you deserve to have a full college experience."

You agree. It makes sense. Especially given the completely different stages of life the two of you were about to embark on.

"Papa asked me to tag along with him this summer - he has some business in Europe and Latin America. I think I'm going to say yes. You and Julian go on the trip. It'll be good for you."

"It's your graduation trip," he protests.

You shrug. "There will be other trips. I think Julian needs you right now more than I do."

"What makes you say that?" he asks, eyebrow quirked in confusion. As far as he knew, Julian hadn't come clean to you yet.

"He said he broke up with some girl - Antoinette, I guess. He's seemed miserable lately and I think he's probably just heartbroken and miserable - he could use his best friend. His best friend who is there just for him."

He finds himself smiling in spite of himself. He's not sure he could've been this unselfish in your shoes. "Anyone ever tell you you're too mature for your age?"

You let out a soft breath of a laugh at that. "Have you met my family? Someone has to be."

He stands finally, walking to meet you at the chair. You look so incredibly small sitting there, that he finds himself kneeling down in front of you. You don't wait, simply launching yourself onto him - making up for the mediocre hug from earlier. You slip off of the chair, legs bent and splayed across his thighs as he catches you. It's all he can do to hold you tight against him, head buried in your hair, breathing you in.

You can feel his heart beating underneath as he holds you close to him. This wasn't how today was supposed to go. It should've been wonderful - the two of you, finally together after months of talking, teasing, overthinking - it should've been easy. He should've grabbed you in his arms in front of everyone and kissed you right then and there - it's how you'd imagined it would go all those nights laying in bed, listening to the sound of your dormmates snoring. That first kiss - that had been everything you'd needed then, the memory of it carrying you through the rest of the school year as you turned away boy after boy, content to live with the mere echo of that kiss reverberating through you.

High school was just something to get through. College was meant to be perfect, freedom, and John. John, who made everything else perfect by simply being there with you. John, who had been the reason you'd kept your head down and done everything asked of you - so that no one could hold anything against you when the inevitability of you and John materialized. The two of you had done everything right. You'd waited. You'd waited and waited until it could be proper, until it would be accepted. It had been torture and the only thing that had carried you through it had been the knowledge that one day very soon, you'd have him.

You can feel your eyes welling up as it really starts to sink in - this wasn't going to happen. You and John were not going to happen.

You shift slightly, moving back from where your head has been tucked into the crook of his neck while you straddle him on the floor. He looks at you, with his deep blue eyes threaded with strands of caramel, that never fail to imbue you with warmth. You reach up to touch his cheek, thumb grazing his cheekbone, feeling the little stubble that's started to appear. Your eyes leave his and roam to the pink of his lips and before you know it, you've leaned up, capturing them with yours. There is the barest of pauses, before his hold on you tightens exquisitely, pushing you up, closer to him, the barest of growls from the back of his throat as he deepens the kiss. This was entirely unlike your first kiss. John claimed your lips as though he couldn't bear to be apart from them for even a moment, his hands leaving tingles of sensation everywhere they went. You let go with a sharp gasp, and a soft moan escapes him that you can't help but want to taste, as you meet his mouth again, again, and again until you forget if the air you're breathing is even your own.

When you finally leave, it's with a quick goodbye, lips just barely pressed to his cheek. He finds himself reaching up to touch the spot on his face that you'd grazed, hoping to keep it there forever.

*------------*

Dominic had kept all the guys out late the previous night, fully invested in making the most of his final day as a bachelor. John had made it back in one piece, thankfully, but had awoken to a migraine. The water and painkillers left for him on the nightstand serving as his only solace.

He'd had the immense pleasure of meeting Matthew for the first time. He'd heard through the grapevine that you were dating some guy, but Matthew had not been what he expected at all. He was cocky, a showboat, and had an ego the size of Texas. If anything, Matthew was the exact opposite of the kind of guy he'd thought you'd ever date.

You'd come back from college for the weekend wedding, Matthew in tow.

The rest of your family was busy with last minute wedding stuff, so John had been tasked with greeting everyone. The Costello family had sent Frank Costello's son to represent the family, and as he happened to go to school with you, he'd also tagged along. You'd walked in, your face scrunched up in exasperation, the two boys trailing behind with the luggage. You'd hugged him quickly before introducing both of the boys, and John had had to control the flash of anger he felt when Matthew wrapped a meaty arm around your waist, squeezing it tight, and hinted at the two of you going to take a _nap._ You'd seemed a little embarrassed, and tried to laugh it off, but John could tell that had made you uncomfortable.

As you all start to walk down the hallway towards the rooms he's pointed everyone to, Ricky lingers, meeting his eye briefly. "If you're wondering what she sees in him, you're not alone," he says under his breath so only John can hear.

He had a feeling him and Ricky would get along just fine.

His initial impression of Matthew was only confirmed later during the bachelor party that had gone on far too late. He'd told Dominic and Julian that he'd stay more or less sober to make sure there weren't any issues, and had found himself nursing a drink off to the side with Julian and Ricky, watching the women dancing up on the stage. Him and Julian had tried to push for a poker and steak bachelor party, but Dom had gone and rented out an entire burlesque club. The night had simply gone downhill from there, and John was convinced that if any of the wives or girlfriends knew what took place there, there would be more than a couple of broken relationships.

Julian excuses himself after a while, stating the need to grab a smoke, so John is left with Ricky who had turned out to be a good egg. _Why couldn't you have dated him?_ That he could've understood.

Both him and Ricky had looked up as Matthew walks past them, led by some girl. Matthew sees the two of them staring at him. "You'd do it too if your girlfriend didn't put out either," he'd slurred, half drunk as the girl continued to lead him towards the private rooms in the back.

John shares a look of with Ricky. "Good for her," Ricky mutters, his jaw tight, indicating at the bartender for another drink.

Nodding to where they'd seen Matthew disappear, Johns asks, "Is that normal?"

"Couldn't tell you," Ricky replies, "We aren't exactly close. I hear things, but don't really know what to believe."

John forces himself to take a deep breath and remember that it wasn't any of his business to interfere with your relationship. You were an adult and could handle it. If this is how Matthew is, then he doubted you were entirely unaware. He really hoped you weren't. However, that begged the question - _why on earth were you with this guy?_

He'd gotten dressed in the grey suit that the groomsmen were wearing and gone downstairs to grab breakfast. The ceremony would be taking place in the afternoon, and the entire place was a flurry of activity. He caught a glimpse of you racing down the hallway in a robe, calling out to him to make sure that Dom and Julian were up and ready.

After he'd gone through each guy's room and made sure the entire bridal party was accounted for, he'd ended up doing a couple more last minute things that Katie's mother asked of him. With only an hour before the ceremony, John made his escape, leaving Julian in charge of Dom. He needs a breather.

He finds himself on the upstairs balcony, overlooking the large grass lawn where the chairs are assembled and guests would be arriving soon. Taking out a cigarette, he lights it and takes a drag, feeling his shoulders untense for the first time since he's woken up.

"Are you hiding?"

He turns at the sound of your voice. You're dressed in a blush pink gown that flows to the ground, hair done up - a couple of strands framing your face. You're smiling, the soft smile that graces your face and the sparkle that enters your eyes - the smile he knows that you save for him.

"Hey Cap. What're you doing here?" he asks, smiling softly at you, as you walk towards him.

"Needed a break," you admit. "Katie's great, but her sorority sisters are a bit too much energy for me right now."

He lets out a chuckle at that.

You reach him, grabbing the cigarette easily out of his hand, and bring it to your own lips as you lean against the pillar in front of him with an air of ease.

"How was last night?" you ask him, letting out a puff of smoke, before passing it back to him.

He thinks about your question. _Should he warn you about Matthew? Was it his place to do that?_ He should, he thinks - he'd want to know if he was in your shoes. You deserved to have someone better.

He feels you nudge him, as you shift to lean over the balcony by his side. You're looking at him in question as he's been silent since you asked.

"If I say something, promise not to take it the wrong way?" he asks, hesitation layered in his voice.

Your brow furrows slightly, but you nod, prompting him to go on.

"Matthew - do you like him?"

"Why're you asking me that?"

John swallows as he looks down at you next to him with your eyes narrowed slightly. "He's not as…discreet as he should be," he manages out, doing his best to convey his concern but still keep it polite.

You barely react at that. You either know or don't care and he's willing to bet it’s the former - you would definitely care to have a partner that was considerate and tactful rather than one whose words and actions were circumspect in the public eye.

"Did he say something specific that has you concerned?" You don't meet his eyes, turning to look out at the lawn, where ushers are starting to seat some early guests.

John shifts a bit on his feet, unsure of how to phrase it. "He - um - he said something about you not putting out," he blurts out, stuttering through it like some prepubescent boy. He really shouldn't be feeling quite so awkward about this, and yet he does.

He hears you sigh - then feels you slump slightly and he turns and looks at you, relieved you aren't upset with him and worried all over again because you just look sad.

"I'm just not ready," you confess, looking up at him.

He shakes his head. "You don't owe me an explanation. I just thought you'd want to know, that's all."

You nod, eyes shifting from his, down to the ground.

It's quiet for a bit as the two of you pass the cigarette back and forth, watching more guests arrive and take their seats.

"Do you even like this guy?" he asks, unable to help himself from repeating his initial question. You hadn't answered it really.

You let out the barest of laughs, a sad smile settling on your face as you turn your head to look at him. "He's not you."

John feels his heart clench. The two of you didn't talk about it anymore, having swept it under the rug for Julian's sake and to maintain a semblance of normalcy for everyone else.

"We should go," you say before he has a chance to speak. "Katie will want us both there for pictures soon." You shake your head slightly as if to clear it, and he sees you force a larger smile to your face before you reach for his hand, leading him back inside.

Your hand feels incredibly small in his and he allows himself to be led by you.

The two of you walked down the aisle together, your hand tucked into his elbow, a bouquet held in the other.

He watched you dance late into the night. You danced with everyone - Julian, Ricky, and him, both Dom and Katie, your father and his.

He knocks back his drink as the musicians call for the final song of the night.

You and Matthew sway together, your hair still perfectly in place, head rested on Matthew's shoulder, heels long ago shed off and forgotten under some table.

The music swells around him as he drinks slowly. He missed you. He didn't just miss you when he was alone. He missed you when he was surrounded by people. He missed your laugh through the din of laughter. He missed your smile amongst the sea of smiling faces. He missed the little jokes you'd make that were meant just for him. He missed the way your hand would squeeze his out of the blue, reminding him that it was _your_ hand held tightly in his. He missed your very essence that used to bathe him in the feeling of light and air and you. Overwhelmingly you. Extensively you. You had saturated his very being with your presence.

Now, he simply felt bereft.

*------------*

Everyone had just sat down to Thanksgiving dinner at the van Dorens' place - John's parents had been invited to his mother's side of the family and John had begged off spending another holiday with the grandparents he couldn't stand. Say what you would about your families, at least they could have fun and relax when the occasion called for it. He'd instead coordinated his vacation with Julian's return and found himself tagging along to dinner at your boyfriend's parents' home.

That had not been the original plan. Him and Julian had gotten in the day before, however you'd been delayed on campus and hadn't made it back until Thanksgiving morning. You'd walked in, your skirt breezing around your legs, looking every bit as beautiful as ever. You'd greeted everyone and when you'd hugged him hello, you'd held it for a second longer than expected. "Can we talk tonight, after dinner?" you had asked, your voice low so that no one else could've heard. He'd nodded subtly, covering it up with a smile, as everyone sat down to breakfast. That was when your mother had announced that you'd all be going to the van Doren house for Thanksgiving dinner. That was news to everyone - even you, it would appear. You clearly hadn't known that dinner would be hosted at Matthew's home. You'd asked your mother when that had happened, however she'd insisted that that had always been the plan and that you and Julian must've forgotten. That was how he'd found himself seated next to Julian and across from you at the van Doren home. Had he known this would be where he'd end up tonight, he would've suffered through another retelling of his grandfather's World War II recollections about taking down the "Japs". It didn't matter how often John said you couldn't talk like that anymore - his political correctness fell on deaf ears.

The van Dorens had now been present for a few events over the past two years since Dominic and Katie's wedding, yet John hadn't warmed up to Matthew at all in that time. He would've thought he was being biased about it, but Julian didn't like him either and made no effort to be discreet with his distaste of the boy. He wasn't even a boy really. He'd swooped in on an eighteen year old while being a fifth year senior. The guy was barely a couple of years younger than him. John and Julian had both took the mickey out of you when he hadn't managed to get into any decent law school and had to bribe his way into Boston's program because he'd wanted to stay nearby. John was of the opinion that Matthew knew very well that he wouldn't last through anything long distance with you - there'd be far too many options available at your fingertips without his meatball self standing in the way.

A pregnant Katie - who was absolutely glowing - was seated next to you, the two of you chatting about her upcoming baby shower. He'd watched earlier over cocktails, as you touched Katie's stomach gingerly - as though worried you'd hurt her - with the softest of smiles and your eyes widened in awe. It appeared you and Dominic were finally getting along with one another, as you were planning on spending part of your winter holidays with him and Katie out in California.

"John, I heard from Agnes Mayweather that you and Cecelia have been seeing one another again. How is that going?"

John looks up at your mother's question and notes your look of slight surprise. He hadn't yet told you that he had started seeing Cece again - it hadn't been that long and it simply hadn't come up organically in conversation yet. Since his move from DC to New York, he'd been looking for old friends to hang out with, and him and Cece had simply fallen together again easily.

"It's good," he responds with a smile. "Her family does Thanksgiving in Europe every year, so that's where she is right now."

"Who's Cece?" Katie asks, a smile on her face, eyes curious. In her entire time with Dom, she had never seen John mention a girl with any semblance of seriousness.

"His date for cotillion," you supply, a bemused expression on your face. John's not sure what to make of it exactly - _were you upset he hadn't told you he was dating someone? Or dating Cece?_ As far as he knew, you and Cece got along just fine, in the limited interactions you'd had together.

"You must've been like - what - eight or nine then?" Matthew asks from your other side, putting his arm around the back of your chair.

"She was nine, yeah. Only person under the age of sixteen who was even allowed to attend," John says, a small smile on his face as he remembers the sight of your nine year old self, sitting at a table all alone, eating cake and watching everyone else dance.

"You always have liked doing all the grown up things, haven't you?" Matthew comments with a short laugh as you roll your eyes, yet allow him to grab your hand that's been resting on the table.

One day, John hopes that seeing someone else have and hold you won't cause that sharp stabbing feeling in his chest. One day could not come fast enough.

The dinner continues and the drinks flow, the food transitioning from turkey and mashed potatoes, to pies and pastries. He sees the large tray of tiramisu you'd brought with you, and grabs a large square for himself. To say he was addicted would be selling it short. You and Matthew both had a slice of his mother's pumpkin pie in front of you. _Funny - he thought you hated pumpkin pie._

The sudden clinking of silverware against glass catches everyone's attention, and John turns to look at Matthew, who is standing, wine glass raised as though to make a toast. Every single person turns to him as well, and John can't help but notice your slightly furrowed brow as you look up at him.

"Thank you all, for being here today," Matthew begins in a booming voice that carries across the long table. "I want to take the chance today and appreciate the woman who has been by my side these past few years, the most beautiful woman I've ever known." All eyes turn to you, and your face has colored under the attention, as Matthew continues. "The day I run for Congress, I want you to be the woman standing behind me, supporting me. Y/N, darling, will you make me the happiest man in the world, by saying yes to being my bride?" he asks, a ring in hand as he looks down at you expectantly.

A tense buzz of silence has fallen across the table at the conclusion of Matthew's speech. You appear to be in shock and he can't tell if it's a good surprise or bad. Julian won't meet his eyes, looking only down at his lap instead of across at you. And, if John isn't mistaken, he sees your father nod imperceptibly so, out of the corner of his eye.

You nod shakily, before a large smile breaks out on your face. "Yes, of course." John watches as Matthew pulls you up out of the chair, pushing the ring onto your finger, and presses a kiss to your lips in front of everyone, as the rest of the table breaks out into excited cheers or claps. John can't believe what just happened. _You were only twenty one years old!_ He couldn't believe you'd agreed to marry Matthew of all people - the guy who had proposed by asking you to stand _behind_ him while _he_ ran for Congress. _What the hell was wrong with you?_

He turns to look at Julian while the rest of the party offers both you and Matthew their congratulations, Katie examines the giant gaudy ring on your finger, and your mother cries, patting her tears away with a handkerchief. Julian, however, has disappeared in the commotion, and John is left to sit there and take in the new state of the world before him.

It is late that night by the time everyone returns to your family home. There had been a lot of people gushing at you and Matthew, a lot of photographs, however at the end of the day you'd chosen to come home with the rest of them. Your parents weren't particularly keen on you spending the night at your fiancé's home due to the optics, even though everyone of course turned the other way and didn't ask any questions when the two of you traveled together.

Your parents had retired to bed nearly immediately, both of them hugging you and telling you how very proud and happy they were due to your engagement. The rest of you had ended up in the study, where Dom and Katie talked to you about potential wedding venues in the Napa Valley. John listened along and added in comments passively, trying to cover for how completely disengaged Julian was from the conversation. Eventually, the two of them left to go to bed as well, Dom helping his wife up and out of the study, shutting the door behind, leaving just you, John, and Julian in the room.

It's quiet for a while as you get up to fix yourself another drink, eyebrow raised in question at the both of them. John shook his head. He wanted to stick to the single drink he'd been nursing since he had sat down. Julian hadn't noticed your question, having stared straight out the window, to the pool in the backyard.

"Are you really going to marry him?" Julian asks, turning away from the window to face you, breaking the silence.

You appear taken aback as you turn from the bar cart, having poured yourself a vodka soda. "What kind of question is that?"

"A serious one. Tell me honestly, that if he hadn't asked you at Thanksgiving dinner in front of everyone - if he'd asked you last week at school or after the two of you got back to Boston - tell me you would've still said yes then." Julian's turned to face you, both his voice and face intensely directed at you as you're perched on the arm of the chair next to John.

He sees you falter and cover it up by taking a sip of your drink. "I don't know. Who knows what would have happened. I said yes - that's what actually happened. What matters," you reply with a definitive set to your voice, unable to look Julian in the eye for longer than a second.

John turns to you fully. That wasn't the right answer to that question - it should've been an enthusiastic, no holds barred yes. Instead it was… _whatever_ that was.

"You know his mother flinches whenever his father walks by her, right?" Julian asks, exchanging a look with John as he does. They'd talked about that before, how Mrs. van Doren seems terrified of her husband in a manner entirely unfamiliar to the both of them. Their mothers didn't cower from their fathers that way.

You appraise them both before you speak. "I'm not her and Matthew is not his father," you state firmly. "That is my future family, and you shouldn't speak about them like that," you declare, as though trying to steer the conversation to a close. John can tell you'd been aware of that - you've always been fairly observant so he isn't entirely surprised.

Julian stands up all of a sudden, causing both of you to look at him curiously. He walks to the window, looking out at the backyard before he speaks again. "You do realize that the dinner with the van Dorens - Mother lied. That wasn't always the plan. It only became the plan yesterday because it was decided that Matthew would propose to you tonight."

"Okay…so what? My boyfriend decided to propose to me. What's the big deal?" Both you and John look at one another in confusion, and then at Julian, prompting him to speak further.

"Did you notice that Papa and Mr. van Doren went off to his study for drinks afterwards? That Dom wasn't invited?" Julian asks, head still facing the backyard.

You stand up, setting your drink down on the table, and cross your arms over your chest. "What're you getting at Julian? Just come right out and say whatever it is you're trying to say."

Julian turns away from the window finally, instead choosing to lean against it, facing you. "He made the Singapore deal with them. With the van Dorens. Matthew proposing to you was part of the exchange."

There's a tense silence and John can hear you take a sharp inhale as you process what Julian had just revealed. "The only reason he'd need the van Dorens for Singapore is if - is if you said no to the Waldorf girl," you speak hesitantly, your breathing more shallow than before. John notices your hand twist the ring around your finger.

Julian says nothing.

"You said no? Why would you do that?" You slowly walk towards Julian, where he still stands near the window. John feels like he should leave, but there really wasn't an easy way to do that now. "This is the third girl Julian," you continue softly. "Mother and Papa wouldn't set you up with someone awful. They'd find someone who would be there for you, by your side."

Julian scoffs, brushing past you and going to stand at the other side of the room, opposite you, his face contorted with disbelief. " _That's_ what you're focused on? The fact that I said no? Not the fact that your father SOLD you?" he yells suddenly, and John worries someone in the house will wake up and overhear this conversation.

You look as though he'd slapped you. "Don't - don't say it like that." Your voice breaks pathetically, and John has the immediate urge to tell off Julian for talking to you that way. But he knows better. He should stay out of it. In truth, he really shouldn't be present at all.

"How else am I supposed to phrase it?" Julian sneers at you, throwing his arms up. "He sold you like you were _property_ \- like a _whore_ he could pimp out to sweeten to pot. Is that _better_?" he spits out, fully enraged and pacing towards you.

John pushes up from his seat quickly, fully set to calm Julian down and get him away from you. This wasn't the way to do this, even if Julian was telling the truth. He's stopped however, but your hand grasping his wrist. He turns and sees you shake your head.

Julian turns to look at the both of you, his eyes focused on where your hand is wrapped around John's wrist. "What about John?" he asks, his eyes shifting down, away from you. "Thought you wanted to end up with him one day," he says, gesturing at your joined hands.

You let go of John's wrist as though it had scalded you. There's a charged silence ringing in his ears and John cannot _believe_ Julian had brought that up. It had been four long years and you'd both tried very hard to move past it. John's suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. _How had they come to this?_ It should have been about helping you see that maybe Matthew wasn't entirely right - how had his name gotten dragged into it?

Your jaw has dropped as you look at Julian, eyes widened in shock. You let out a breath of disbelief, shaking your head, at a complete loss for words. The three of you did not talk about that, ever. You and Julian especially had never even acknowledged it.

You open your mouth to say something, but John beats you to it. "What the hell, man." He's looking at Julian in complete shock is heart racing - the two of them had never talked about it afterwards save for that one drunken night in Barcelona when Julian had apologized for being selfish and wanting to have his friend all to himself. John had ended up reassuring him that the two of you had made the decision together, and the timing of it all, the different stages of life you had been about to embark on, all would've made things too difficult. Had things not worked out between the two of you due to the circumstances alone - neither one of you could bear to do that to the other. What Julian had done was likely for the best. Julian hadn't remembered any part of the conversation the following morning.

Julian appears slightly ashamed as he is unable to meet both of your eyes, realizing that he'd crossed a line.

You're trying very hard to maintain your composure and John can see the shimmer of tears glazing your eyes. It's quiet for a moment more as he watches you gather your wits about you, your hands shaking ever so slightly, the only sound in the room coming from both your forced controlled breathing and Julian's erratic ones.

"Let me make something perfectly clear to you," you grit out, eyes fiery and blazing at Julian. "You, of all people, do not get to throw that in my face. You made your decision four years ago, and so did we." Your voice is cold and John feels a shiver run through him at a cold fury that isn't even directed fully at him. You look from Julian, to John, who meets your eyes for barely a second, before looking away. You'd both chosen Julian over one another.

Julian looks only at the ground.

_What had been the point of Julian saying no to the two of you four years ago if he was going to suddenly be alright with it in the face of you marrying Matthew?_ However, it seemed as though you didn't even care about that - you'd simply brushed past it already and John is left reeling, thinking through the implications of what both you and Julian had put out there. Julian didn't care. Unfortunately for him, it appeared neither did you.

"If you'd just say yes - " he hears your voice again, through the din in his head that is trying to make sense of everything, as you carry on, still intent on talking to Julian, intent on ignoring what he'd just brought up as if it meant so little. John isn't sure how you possibly could ignore it - he hasn't been able to think of anything else since, Julian's words echoing over and over in his brain.

"To marrying someone I do not _love_? For some _business_ deal? Ruin my life for _that_?" he roars at you snapping out of his silent shame, swiping his hand across one of the end tables and sliding the old lamp off of it. The three of you watch as it crashes to the floor and breaks, emitting a crash. You flinch when it hits the floor.

John turns to you and there are silent tears streaming down your face as you stare at Julian in utter shock. It's gone too far - this whole thing. John feels like a voyeur - like he's intruding on his parents breaking up or something.

"For the _family_!" you scream, your voice a whispered shout as you're still mindful of how late it is. Far more so than Julian had been. "You do it for the family Julian! I did it for you when I gave you John, because you needed him. You were asked to do something that helps the family, you should've just done it. You don't just run away and ignore all responsibility and obligation. You step up, be a _man_ , and do what's asked of you."

Julian looks at you with disgust coloring his features. "Well excuse me if I have a little more self respect than that," he says, entirely bypassing what you'd said about John as though you had never even said it at all. It was as though he didn't even care - didn't realize - how awful and heartbreaking of a sacrifice he'd forced upon you. And yet, you'd done it - for him.

You look away from him, and John can feel the frustration and anger cascading off of you in waves, tinged by something else he can't quite discern, but he thinks it might be… _fear_. "How much longer do you expect Papa to let you get away with this? He isn't exactly known for being patient. Sooner or later there will be repercussions. He's been lenient long enough." Your voice is hoarse as you swallow your tears and fury.

You're all aware of your father's reputation - cold, calculating, and merciless. You all know the kind of person Julian was choosing to challenge and while his wrath towards his children had its limits, it had quite a stretch of runway before it reached its end. Julian was playing with fire by continuing on his current path.

Julian appraises you and appears to consider your words, before his eyes land on the large ring adorning your hand, reinvigorating the fight within him. "Then I suppose I'll wait till that day. Until then, I won't just lie down and spread my legs for whomever," he jeers at you.

"Enough." John's finally reached his limit with the entire argument, his jaw clenched tightly and a thunder-struck expression marring the rest of his features as he fully comprehends how far Julian has strayed. "You can't talk to her that way," he states firmly, positioning himself between the two of you.

Julian looks at him, a manic glint in his eyes. A derisive laugh escapes him, bouncing off the walls. "Didn't realize she still did it for you. Isn't twenty one a little _old_ for your tastes?"

"FUCK _OFF_ , Julian." You can scarcely believe him. _How could he talk to John like that?_

"With pleasure," he scoffs, looking from you, to John, and then turns the knob on the door and slams it shut behind him, leaving just you and John standing in the study by yourselves.

John watches as you pull yourself together. He wants to go to you and hold you and tell you that Julian was just being a dick. But part of him agrees with Julian - especially if he's telling the truth about how it all came together. Part of him also feels the sting of what Julian implied about him despite how untrue it is. So he holds himself apart as the two of you stare at one another in the wake of the deafening silence left behind by Julian's exit.

John watches as you wipe away the remaining tears and bend to gather the broken pieces of the lamp, sweeping away the evidence of Julian's rage. You walk and grab the lamp sitting in the far corner of the room, replacing the broken one. John can do nothing but watch.

"Why did you say yes?" he asks finally, unable to stop himself.

You blink, not having expected that from him and he watches as you bite your lower lip between your teeth, quietly thinking over his question, your fingers twisting the ring around your finger in earnest. Your tongue pokes out and licks the spot your teeth had worried moments earlier. He feels entirely scrutinized under your gaze. With a short exhale, you answer, "Because he asked."

Before he can say anything more, you've followed Julian's example and walked out the door, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the study.

He never did find out what it had been that you'd wanted to talk to him about after dinner. The next morning it was as though nothing had transpired at all. You and Julian weren't speaking, and John found he had very little to say himself.

*------------*

Julian had flown out to Boston the week after you'd left. John had figured the two of you would make up eventually, and he was glad he hadn't been wrong about that, though he and Julian had argued once again about him simply telling you the truth of why he kept turning away set ups with women. Julian was staunchly against it still, even more so now that you'd agreed to marry Matthew and didn't appear to be wavering in your decision at all. The two of them simply didn't address anything else Julian had said, and John decided that was likely for the best.

The holidays had passed uneventfully - he'd spent it mostly with Cece, only seeing you and Julian the day after Christmas when everyone gathered at your parents' home to exchange presents and for everyone to meet baby Amara. He watched as you sat in the large chair in the living room, holding Amara in your hands as she slept, Matthew perched on the arm of the chair. He can't help but smile - you'd be a good mother, even if yours hadn't been.

The call regarding Julian's death had come in mid-February, Dom on the other end telling him that Julian had been victim to a mugging gone wrong. The funeral had been held back in Connecticut, Julian's body shipped back. Your parents had opted for a closed casket, so John was left to remember December 26th - the last time he'd seen his best friend in person.

His eyes searched for you at the funeral, and when he saw you, it was as though you weren't even there. Your father had been the one to stand and speak - he would've thought it would be you. Julian would've preferred that, he was sure. He'd gone through the line of people offering their condolences robotically, inching along behind his father. As he approached, he sees your eyes look up - first at his father, who hugs you quickly, and then at him. He can't move. He's frozen. He sees your lower lip tremble - he hadn't yet seen you shed a single tear - you'd stood stoically by to your parents the entire prior hour and a half that he'd observed you.

It's as though he moves on autopilot, his hand reaching out for yours - it was good that he had, as you had nearly tripped forward into him, your arms wrapped tiredly around his shoulders. He's quick to usher you away, into the back room where Sunday School classes are typically held.

Your body shakes against him in silent sobs as tears cascade down. He's unsure how, but the two of you had ended up on the brightly patterned carpet of the classroom, his legs spread out in front of him and you're situated on his lap as close to his chest as possible as your body is wracked with sobs. He clutches you tightly to him, holding you close and allowing you to fall apart the way you needed to. He'd hold it together for the both of you.

When his mother peaks in to the room, he signals her away. It was likely due to her that no one else bothers the two of you again. You say nothing and neither does he. When you finally calm down, his fingers brush away the remaining tears on your face and he feels you reach up and do the same to him. He hadn't realized he'd cried as well.

He helps you up and the two of you walk out. He watches as you approach Matthew, who wraps an arm around your shoulder and looks at him with what could almost be classified as gratitude. Matthew wasn't equipped to deal with this.

*------------*

He hears you'd been in an accident only a month or so afterwards. He's in the middle of a deposition and unable to go in person. He hears from his mother that you'd gone through some surgery but were otherwise alright. There was something in her voice that gave him some pause, but he hadn't had the time to press further.

He sent a bouquet of dahlias along with a Get Well Soon card.

*------------*

You're set to graduate and he's not sure if he should go. His father had asked him over a few weeks prior and told him that Julian's death hadn't been accidental. He didn't know what to believe anymore.

He doesn't go. He's not quite ready to see you again yet.

Julian was dead. What was there really to do?

*------------*

"So eventually, the guy calms down enough after I explain that the fire alarm on the gallery wall wasn't an art piece and not for sale, but only after he made poor Lucille cry, can you believe it?"

John laughs, shaking his head. "Lucille's easy to make cry though, you have to admit." he says, handing Cece the glass of wine he'd just poured.

She laughs, and is about to launch into another story, as the doorbell rings. "I'll get it," she says, leaving him in the kitchen to finish loading the dishwasher.

A minute or so later, he hears footsteps and turns to see Cece, followed by you. He hadn't seen you since Julian's funeral, and there you stood in his kitchen, entirely soaked from the rain outside, having dripped water on the floors on your way in.

"Y/N said she needed to speak with you," Cece supplies, breaking him out of the stupor his brain had entered at the sight of you. "I think I'm going to head out, let the two of you talk."

John simply nods, not thinking to ask her to stay or even thank her. The two of you stare at one another, and he finds himself entirely uncomfortable being alone with you, for the very first time.

"Let me grab you a towel," he manages, indicating you towards the couch in the living room. He walks to the linens cabinet in the back and by the time he returns, you've shed your jacket and are facing away from him in a light tank top, revealing your shoulders and a large fading bruise off to one side.

He wordlessly hands you the towel and watches as you squeeze the water out of your hair, wet tendrils clinging to the side of your face. You still haven't spoken a single word and he finds himself at a loss to say much of anything. He knows you graduated a couple of weeks prior and he knows his father had attended, not wanting to miss his god daughter's graduation ceremony. He wonders briefly if his father had decided to enlighten you as to the true nature of Julian's death, and comes to the conclusion that he had. _Why else would you be there?_

"How'd that happen?" he asks, breaking the silence as you had turned away from him to slip out of your boots, indicating towards the bruise he'd seen.

You look over your shoulder at him with your eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't worry about it." you reply, turning around and holding up your hand, showing him your empty ring finger. "Waited till Singapore was a done deal, and I ended it."

John lets out a deep breath of disbelief. Matthew had hurt you so much that you had a bruise traversing the length of your upper back. _What the hell had he done to you?_ He can feel the rage and surge of protectiveness that he typically feels around you, storming in his head, and as though you could sense his shift, you place a feather light touch to his arm. "It's alright. I'm fine. Ricky already broke his nose."

That doesn't cause him to worry any less whatsoever. Things had been so bad that Ricky had _broken_ the bastard's nose. A rogue snort escapes him regardless, as he tries to calm himself. Now wasn't the time to get riled up about Matthew - especially if he was history. "Always did like that Ricky kid," he says instead, in an attempt to not slip back into silence. The silence had been wildly uncomfortable and now that it had been broken, he was intent on keeping it that way.

You're toweling off your wet hair as you watch him, your eyes appraising him and then turning to look around at his place. He saw his loft through your eyes - the exposed brick and open floorplan. His bed off to the other side, sheets still rumpled from when Cece had been over. It had been his attempt to tone down his lifestyle - girls got odd ideas when he'd take them back to the company owned apartment he'd stayed in the first couple of months after his internship wrapped with McGuire.

"Really bought into the whole Brooklyn hipster thing, didn't you?" you say, your tone colored with a hint of humor he hadn't expected.

John lets out a half laugh, knowing it wasn't quite your taste. Whatever had brought you to his door despite the pouring rain outside seemed far away at the moment.

"You want something to drink? Eat?" he asks, gesturing you over to the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of water and sets it on the counter for you.

You follow, hopping onto the island as he busies himself with putting the dishes away again, knowing you'll talk once you're ready. It's quiet for a couple of minutes - the only sounds coming from the rain outside and the movement from him working his way through the rest of the load. He looks outside, feeling a small bit of guilt for letting Cece leave in this weather. He'd have to make it up to her later.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask finally, as he puts the final plate in and shuts the dishwasher.

The question finally vocalized was far less angry than anticipated. He’d expected fury and rage raining down upon him for keeping the truth from you. He’d expected having to beg for your forgiveness. This quiet line of questioning felt alarmingly wrong to him. John turns, leaning against the opposite counter, his shoulders hunched together, arms crossed in front of his chest. You're still seated on the island, legs dangling, palms pressed into the granite, knuckles tensed around the edge. He looks up to meet your eyes and his voice catches as he does - you've dropped the veil you'd worn when you first arrived, revealing the unbridled pain underneath. Glassy eyes follow his, searching for some sort of answer - some explanation that would help make sense of your world that had been turned upside down.

"I -," he sighs deep, trying to gather his thoughts all together but they keep slipping out of his hands like sand. "I didn't think you'd - you'd believe me or what good it would do," he manages out, unable to look up at you, instead settling for fixing his gaze to where Matthew's ring used to sit. There was still a white ring there, the surrounding skin a couple of shades darker.

You're silent in the face of his confession. He hadn't wanted to be the one to turn your life upside down. He hadn't wanted to be the reason you questioned everything. He should've. He knows that. He'd been a coward, running away from it all. Unwilling to shoulder the responsibility of the fall out. He can't help but feel like he's joined the list of men who have completely let you down.

“Did you know - did you always know ab - about Julian?” you ask, eyes downcast as you struggle to put your question into words. 

John can imagine the hurt you must’ve felt when you finally learned Julian’s life long secret. How that must have eaten away at you, made you question what you’d done to frighten Julian into never telling you. How many puzzle pieces must have fallen together - the fact that Julian never once brought home a girl, how he never once expressed interest in anyone openly, every refusal to marry. He knows how your fight with Julian must haunt you now - knowing the full context of his actions. Agreeing to marry a woman your parents set him up with - any woman - would have killed his spirit entirely. 

“Yeah, I did,” he admits, meeting your eyes as he does. 

You let out a breath and he sees your shoulders slump as you look away from him, trying to hide the tears in your eyes from him. You were never quite that good at hiding things from him, however. Your lips part as though you wish to say something or ask something, but appear to think better of it, shaking your head as you do. John’s uncertain where this hesitation in you is coming from. There should be a barrage of questions being hurled at him right now - not the two questions he’s gotten so far. Nothing about this feels right to him. 

Your hair has started to curl slightly as it dries, forming waves around your face, and he's tempted to push the hair behind your ears, out of your face because he knows how that bothers you.

"What now?" he asks, unable to linger in the silence any longer.

You shake your head as you look at him, releasing a long held sigh. "I have no idea. I cashed out the trust fund and deferred law school. By now Matthew must've told them that I ended things. I haven't heard anything from anyone." The lack of response must be killing you, he knows. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He nods. Letting Singapore go through uninterrupted probably helped - it would buy you time if nothing else. He doubts your father thinks you know the truth about Julian. More than likely, it'll be chalked up to nerves or rebellion - maybe even grief.

You hop off of the island, landing right in front of him and he resists the urge to reach out and steady you on your feet. "Thank you. I should go. Tell Cece I'm sorry for interrupting," you say, throwing a half apologetic smile his way over your shoulder.

You walk back to the couch, and he follows, watching you lean down and pull your shoes back on. 

His brow scrunches up in concern. _You were leaving already?_ "Where are you going to go?" he asks, watching you apprehensively. _That was it? Why even bother coming then?_

"Not sure yet. I'll see you around," you reply over your shoulder, shrugging your jacket back on. 

With that, you're gone as quickly as you came, and he's left feeling off kilter, staring around his apartment, wondering if you'd been some sort of hallucination. A fever dream borne of a guilty mind that hadn’t felt at peace in a very long time. 

*------------*

He didn't hear from you again for a couple of months. The next he even heard _of_ you was in the gossip magazines that Cece had brought over to his apartment to read on Sunday mornings while he cooked them both breakfast. She showed him photographs of you wearing skimpy dresses, escorted by pretty boy model types at every club in the city.

Through the grapevine - and he was guilty of using Cece to get the inside track on everything - he finds out that you'd moved into an apartment in the Upper East Side and had made it your goal to be the most notorious party girl the city's ever seen. It's in complete contrast to the low profile you typically keep and he sees it for what it is - a bizarre attempt at drawing attention to yourself. To what end, he could only guess at.

Another month in, and he gets a drunken call from you, providing him the name of some pub that is decidedly low brow - nothing like the clubs and speakeasies you're known to haunt. He arrives to find you seated at the bar, your short dress hiked up past the point of decency, nearly passed out. He finds out where you live and helps you to your place, depositing you on your couch. The guys at the front desk had him in their system already it seemed, and he'd been waved up rather quickly as he carried your limp form.

He leaves you there as he has work the following morning, and taking care of twenty two year old socialites isn't something he has the time or energy to do, even if it is you. It's as though he can feel himself being sucked into your tornado and he's digging his heels in, determined to stay away. He knows that if he gives in, that'll be it. You'll take over his life, his breath, his soul all over again and it had taken far too much out of him to escape the first time.

*------------*

Cece asks him if he's spoken to you recently. Apparently, you've been getting somewhat of a reputation. She heard from her contacts in the art world that you'd been frequenting some pill parties and it was only a matter of time before the tabloids got a hold of it.

There's a growing pit in his stomach anytime you come up, anytime he sees your face on the cover of a paper as he buys coffee, anytime something small reminds him of you. You're both in Manhattan every day. You're never more than a dozen miles away from him. Yet, what's he supposed to do really? He's not your caretaker. You're an adult. The worst thing in the world had happened and you're coping with it just as he had coped with it.

Despite that, he knows this isn't really you - not how you typically cope. You're entirely mission oriented and your way of dealing with things usually comes in the form of finding something new to conquer, something new to be good at, something new to distract yourself with. This is the first time he's seen you latch onto something destructive just to keep going on. 

*------------*

"Do you think it hurt, when he died?"

John blinks, still trying to make sense of what was going on. He had been woken by the shrill ringtone he had set just for you, to make sure he'd never miss a call, and as his eyes settle on the clock on the nightstand, he realizes that it's past three in the morning. His heart is beating really fast, having been startled awake harshly and his brain struggles to close the gap between dreams and reality.

"What?"

"Julian, when he died. Do you think it was fast? Was it painless? Or do you think it was drawn out? Knowing Papa, I feel like he would've drawn it out. Don't you?"

He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand at your voice and your words. At what they're implying. There’s a nearly hauntingly playful quality to your voice that gives him chills. 

"Where are you?" he asks, his heart thudding in his chest still, your words ringing in his ears, and his stomach clenching over and over doing somersaults. _Something's wrong._ He can feel it in his bones. Something is very wrong.

"Home."

"Stay there. I'm coming over."

It's nearly twelve miles from Brooklyn to the Upper East Side and on a normal day at three in the morning it would take twenty two minutes to get there. John makes it in twelve. He leaves his bike parked right in front, despite the doorman's protests, tossing the keys to him on his way in. If he cared so much, then he could move it. 

His blood runs cold when he sees you lying on the floor, pills spilling out of the bottle that lies limp in your hand. You're cold when he reaches you, his hands trembling as he feels for a pulse, before scooping you up and taking you to the shower and placing you under the stream. He forces a couple of fingers down your throat, doing his best to force the pills up, unsure how many you'd taken by the time he arrived. He feels like he's living every nightmare come to life. 

It's early morning by the time you're fully conscious, lying in the tub as he sits at the edge, watching over you. He'd had a few hours to himself to just watch you and think. Things couldn't go on the way they had been. He had to do something, or the next time he wouldn't get there in time.

He sees you stir and orders you to clean up and meet him outside, his voice unrecognizable to even himself. By the time you emerge, you'd showered and wet hair clumps around your head. You're wearing his old law school hoodie, and he feels a twinge of _something_ , despite knowing you'd done it on purpose. 

He places a plate of toast in front of you. You didn't keep much in the apartment besides bottles of chilled champagne and that really wasn't what he was going to serve at six thirty in the morning to the girl who had tried to overdose on pills the night before. 

"We're going to take him down," he announced, as you munch on the toast and look at him cautiously.

Your eyes flash at him and you continue to chew, buying yourself time to respond. Finally you swallow and look up at him. "We?"

"Yes. We are not doing a repeat of last night. Ever. So get that clear in your head." His voice is firm and his jaw clenched as he remembers the sight of you lying on the floor only a few hours ago. 

You're quiet, looking away from him and he can see the faintest hint of color in your cheeks and he hears you sniffle quietly.

"You scared me last night." His voice is entirely controlled, only the tremor in his hand giving away how entirely affected he is by the past few hours of terror he'd lived through.

Your voice is soft when you speak, catching in your throat when you do. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I don't want _sorry_. I want you to promise me that it won't happen again," he begs, reaching across and tucking the hair that had fallen into your face back behind your ear.

"I miss him." You look up at him and suddenly he's reminded of the eighteen year old who had snuck into his room after graduation - entirely vulnerable, entirely young, standing at the precipice of the unknown.

John sighs. "Me too. But that doesn't mean - it doesn't mean we give up."

You nod, standing up and walking around the counter to him, wrapping your arms tight around his waist. "So what're we going to do?" you ask, looking up at him.

*------------*

You'd just left his parents' home after having dinner with the three of them, followed by drinks in the study with his father, his mother choosing to retire to bed early.

The three of you had been working together on how to dismantle your father from the inside, and already he'd seen a big change in you. It wasn't how you'd been before, but it was better than it had been recently, and he'd take that win for now.

"You should know," his father discloses, clearing his desk of the files he'd taken out to share with the two of you, "when she turned eighteen, I asked her father about her and you - we all saw the way you look at her. I thought it would be nice to unite our families as one.”

John looks at his father with some amount of surprise. He hadn't known that - that he'd approached your father for your hand.

"Don't look so surprised son. You're not nearly as subtle as you like to think you are. Her father wasn't surprised either. I imagine he ensured it didn't happen regardless. The Hawthornes were not politically useful to him and he needed to keep her available." There's a slight bitter quality to his father's voice.

John nods, a stuttered breath escaping him. He wonders what your father had said to Julian in order to get him to interfere the way he had. He wonders if you knew.

"You need to be careful, son. Don't fall for her again," his father warns. John doesn't know how to break it to him - it was already far too late for that.

*------------*

John's woken up at eight in the morning on a Sunday with a knock on his door. Bleary eyed, he goes to open it, only to have a clipboard shoved in his face. A delivery man is standing here, urging him to sign for a package.

"It's downstairs. Can't bring it here. Won't fit."

_What kind of a package was that big that it wouldn't fit in the elevator?_ He follows the man downstairs, who leads him to a truck, from the back of which a motorcycle is rolled off.

John stands there, blinking, unsure what to make of it all. Right as the delivery man hands him the keys, a cab pulls up, and out you step, looking far more dressed up and cheery than anyone should that early in the morning.

"Oh good it's here," you exclaim, beaming at him.

"What's going on?" he asks, taking in your appearance - the leather jacket and the combat boots. You looked like you were playing a biker chick for Halloween.

"I had Julian's bike shipped over," you explain, your eyes taking in his shirtless appearance and skimming over the grey sweatpants he had worn to bed. "You're going to teach me how to ride it."

He raises an eyebrow. "I am?"

"Yes. Now go put on a shirt. When do you even have time to do all that?" you ask, waving your hands in the general direction of his chest and abs, a flirty smile on your face that makes him blush ever so slightly. "Thought you were a lawyer."

John could feel a migraine coming on as he shivers from the cold. There really was no talking you out of this or reasoning to do this at a more humane hour. Rolling his eyes, he tosses you the keys before going upstairs to change.

*------------*

It had been a heart attack from nowhere. He'd gotten a call from his mother in the dead of night, hysterically screaming for him. Apparently you'd gotten the same call, as you'd arrived at the hospital before even he did. You held his mother together while the doctor spoke to him. It had been quick, relatively painless as far as death goes.

Everyone had come for the funeral, and from the corner of his eye he saw you greeting both of your parents as though nothing had happened. Your father's arm around your waist fills him with disgust, leaving him wondering how you could stand his touch after knowing everything that you did. 

The funeral and wake afterwards seem to stretch on forever and all he wants is to be away from all the people. 

It's late and most everyone had left, his mother catered to by her sisters - he'd needed a breather. He'd ended up in his childhood bedroom - surrounded by his soccer trophies, swimming medals, debate gavels - a shrine his mother had maintained to him and his achievements.

"Hey."

He turns at the sound of your softly hesitant voice as you stand at the door. You're still wearing the black dress you'd worn earlier in the day, a delicate strand of pearls wrapped tightly around your neck. He recognizes it as a piece his father had gifted you for one of your birthdays when you were younger, and he smiles at the memory of everyone surrounding you while you wore a tiara and blew out candles.

"Hey, come on in Cap."

You smile slightly at his use of the moniker, and walk in, carefully shutting the door behind you. The bed shifts as you come and sit by him, your hand reaching for his. He feels a streak of warmth go through him - the first bit of warmth he's felt since he saw his mother's crying face at the hospital.

"He's gone," he whispers, turning towards you. His father was gone. He's an adult, and this was a part of life, but he wasn't even thirty years old yet. Parents weren't supposed to die when you're that young. They're supposed to be there when you get married, when you have kids. His father would never meet his children. 

You squeeze his hand, bringing his head down to your shoulder as you hold him. Tears won't come. He didn't think he was capable - not yet at least. Right now it was enough to feel something - anything.

He takes another deep breath and as he turns his head, he catches your worried look. His eyes go from yours to your lips and back again and before he knows it, he's leaned in. You let him. He pulls away, set to apologize, but when he tries to, your lips cover his again. A shuddered breath traverses through the both of you as he lowers you to the navy blue sheets that cover the bed, your light hands traveling from his face to his hair, to his arms - leaving sparks of sensation everywhere they go. He acts on pure instinct, the two of you careful to keep quiet as his hands roam, touching skin and drawing noises, whose mere imagination had maintained permanent residence in his dreams for years.

*------------*

It had been two weeks since his father's funeral before he sees you again by himself. He'd spent a large amount of that time with his mother, helping her pack up his father's things and sort through the will. You’d been there with her whenever he couldn’t be. 

He kept replaying that night over and over again in his head. It shouldn't have happened like that. The two of you - finally - it should've been perfect. Instead it had been coated with grief and hurt - a desire to provide comfort and years of pent up longing that should've exploded but instead simmered into a low fizzle. It had still been what he had needed. It just hadn't been what you needed, and he couldn't help but feel guilty for that, as he remembers you giving him a half hearted smile and adjusting your clothes before heading back downstairs.

"They turned me down," you complain as he opens the door to you.

He lets you walk in and you hand him a piece of paper that he reads twice before it fully clicks. "The CIA rejected you?" he asks incredulously.

"Yeah, can you believe it?" You scoff, rolling your eyes, entitlement wafting off of you. 

You seem entirely put out as you help yourself to the scotch he'd been drinking and he can't help but laugh a bit. "You've never been rejected before, have you? Princess has never not gotten what she wants." He knows you haven't - Harvard undergrad, accepted to Harvard Law School, top of your class and winning every single thing you'd ever set out for.

You shake your head at his somewhat obvious mockery and make yourself comfortable on his couch next to him, not responding as you focus instead on drinking. It was still odd seeing you drinking real liquor - like you'd actually grown up. Ruefully, you reply, "I've never really gotten what _I_ want."

He's left to ponder that response while you drink some more. 

"So I suppose I'll be going to my safety school at the FBI," you sigh after a few minutes, reaching across his lap for the remote. "I feel like I'm going to Columbia or something," you joke, trying to shake it off. 

"Hey!"

You laugh as you flick on the news, settling into his side. He's glad you're still casually comfortable together. There had been a part of him that had worried that things would be different afterwards, so it was good to see that you haven't deviated from your normal treatment of him. He watches you as your eyes are trained on the TV anchor, your face scrunching up with every sip of the scotch. You're still not used to the taste or the burn, even if you like to pretend to enjoy it now.

"Let me make it up to you."

You turn up to look at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Last time,” he explains, swallowing a breath that threatens to burst out of him. “It shouldn't have been like that. You didn't - you didn't finish. Let me make it up to you."

You chuckle dismissively, patting his thigh with your hand. "I don't think that's a good idea." 

"Why not?" he presses. He's had a taste of you. He's not ready to just let it go. Let you go.

You're quiet for a second, before you push up from the couch. He follows. 

"Because it won't be what you think it will - what you want it to be. It won't be us how it should've been,” you say, your voice low and colored with sadness, fingers fretting with the edge of your top, and eyes unable to meet his. 

The two of you stand in the middle of the loft, the draft chilling the air around you. Your words linger in the air, swirling around the two of you.

"What do you mean?" he asks, reaching out for you. The two of you consciously or unconsciously moving around the space, closer and closer to the bed.

You bite your lip, as though unsure of how to say it. How to say it in a way that will resonate with him. "I am not the nine year old that said I was going to marry you one day, John," you clarify, a sad smile gracing your face as you look up at him. "I'm not the fifteen year old that begged you to be my first kiss. I'm not the eighteen year old that thought I'd have a beautiful life with you. Those girls are _dead_. I can't be who you want me to be."

John feels his heart sink at your declaration, despite knowing you're right. It's not the same as it once had been. The last time he was with you was proof enough of that. And yet, he doesn't want the time after his father's funeral to be it - not after everything. He couldn't quite bear it to leave it at that. Not if there was a chance.

"Be you then. Let me be whoever you need me to be."

You eye him carefully, surprised at his persistence. The two of you have managed to maneuver yourselves towards the other side of the loft, near his bed, and he watches apprehensively as you walk slowly closer to him, an odd glint in your eye. He finds himself instinctively backing up as you approach, until the back of his legs hit the bedframe.

"You sure about that?" you ask, and before he can catch a breath, your hands have come up and shoved against his chest, pushing him to the bed. He bounces on the mattress ever so slightly, his eyes widened in surprise as you quickly straddle him, your face oh so close to his. "Is this okay?" you appraise him, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders to maintain your balance. 

He nods, moving forward and capturing your lips. He only manages to feel in control for a second, before it’s swept away from him, your fingers harshly pulling at his hair, drawing a groan from him as he finds himself bucking up towards you. It's all fast, hard - nothing like he'd imagined it would be like with you. However, it's only afterwards, as you get out of bed and pull your clothes on to leave, that he realizes exactly how different it is. He finds himself unable to say anything. After all, you'd warned him. He watches you get fully dressed and slip out the door with only a half smile and wave. Never before has he felt so... _used_. 

The next morning, he sees the angry red scratch marks clawed into his back and the bruises left on the rest of him - that’s when it fully sinks in. You're not you.

It happens a couple more times before he starts giving as good as he's getting, and for a second you're surprised. Shockingly, instead of being discouraged, it only serves to spur you further. 

Things continue in the same way throughout your training at the FBI. You tell him not to wait. That you aren't exclusive and he should date. After all, you're only back in the city around once a month and he never comes to DC. You always arrive on Julian's old motorcycle. You never spend the night. 

He tries dating but it's hard to want to become exclusive with other women, knowing that you'll be back again in a couple of weeks. His father’s words loom in his head constantly on the nights he lies awake wondering how you’re doing, if you’re alright, if you’re thinking of him too. 

He knows he has to wait. He has to wait to tell you until everything is done and the dust settles. There’s a ring with your name on it sitting in his mother’s jewelry box. He just has to ride this out, until you’re you again. 

*------------*

You'd accepted a spot on the BAU. He'd thought you'd take the offer in White Collar or something else that was based out of the New York field office at least. However, you said you liked DC and that you liked this one team in particular, and John found himself confused. The plan was really just to get access via the FBI - who cares which team it was on.

You don't see him the first few months you're on this new team. It seems you're always traveling and your phone calls are few and far in between. He starts taking on more than his fair share of the billing hours, working sixteen hour days every day. It won’t be long until he’s made partner - youngest partner in the firm’s history. 

He gets far too happy when you tell him you're coming back to New York for the holidays, and ask to spend them with him. He's nearly giddy with excitement. He gets the babka from the Jewish deli you like and he grabs a couple of bottles of champagne to ring in the new year with.

You arrive, a large smile on your face, your nose red from the chill and a cute little beanie on top of your head. You laugh and leap into his arms immediately and you kiss him and he forgets how to breathe. You're in his arms and you're smiling and you're kissing him without it leading to sex and for the first time in two years he feels a surge of hope flowing through him. _That's my baby._

You tell him about the team and how much you've been learning, as the two of you settle into eating dinner together. It's so nice to hear you excited about something - it reminds him of when you first started at Harvard and the two of you were still maintaining a strong friendship despite putting your relationship on the back burner. All the late night phone calls where he'd fall asleep to the sound of you talking about your history and art classes, everything you were learning in criminology and psychology and he'd just hum and listen, taking it all in. At the time, he'd been worried that you were going to work yourself to the bone doing a triple major and a minor, but you hadn't been able to decide what you wanted to do and you were intent on doing it all. It’s that similar charged passion now as you tell him about the latest case. You deal with serial killers every day and it isn’t something he’d have ever thought you’d do. You tell him about your team and that you’ve made friends, you talk about some kid’s birthday party and ask his advice on a gift, and there is this light in your eyes, this hopeful softness to your smile and he can see every possibility with you. 

After dinner, the two of you sit on the couch as he fills you in on his most recent trial that he's been working, glasses of scotch in hand. He's a little surprised again when you kiss him softly, completely unlike the past year or so that you two have been intimate. He can't help but escalate it, pulling you into his lap. _This was it. This was how it was always meant to be._ You let him carry you to the bed and slowly lower you, going down and down as he works his way down your body. Every touch inciting a soft moan from you, every moan in turn bolstering him onward. He's not sure what changed, but you let him be with you the way he's wanted to be with you forever. Your fingers wrap around his neck, pulling him close after you both finish, leaving him buried within you. He feels your lips ghost over his forehead, fingers running through his hair. You make no move to leave.

The sun streams in through the windows, waking him the next morning. He doesn't feel you next to him, and for a second he panics and thinks you'd snuck out in the middle of the night, having realized your mistake. You don’t stay the night. Ever. You barely even linger afterwards. But then he sees you standing by the window at the kitchen, wearing his shirt and some socks to protect from the chill, a mug of coffee in your hand. His heart flutters at the sight.

He gets up, slipping on a pair of pajama pants, before joining you at the window, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and tucking his head onto your shoulder. It's only when he tries to kiss you that he notices your glossy eyes holding unshed tears.

"Hey Cap," he says softly to you, turning your face towards him gently. "What's wrong?"

You're worrying your bottom lip between your teeth and your hand, the one that isn't clutching the mug tightly is bunched into the shirt you're wearing, wrinkling the material. "I'm sorry," you manage to breathe out. "I am _so_ sorry for all of this."

John feels his breath start to swell in concern, and he rubs his hands up and down your arms soothingly. "What're you sorry about?" _Everything was finally good. What could there possibly be to be sorry about?_

You swallow back a sob. "Doing this job, I see all these people every day who have been messed up by their fathers. Day in and day out, that's all I see. People trying to make sense of the world in one way or another because of how much their parents screwed them up. And you know what? A lot of these people hurt other people because of how much they've been hurt. It sickens me to relate to them - these sickos, pedophiles, and murderers and I think to myself, wow, that could easily be me if I let my father continue to get to me. If I keep going down this path where all I'm doing is basing everything around revenge and taking him down. My life is all consumingly him and I want it to not be."

John nods understandingly, as you continue to let him hold you. The pain in your voice causes his heart to clench.

"I don't like those people and I don't want to be them. I have a chance to stop them. Do something good. Feel _clean_ for once in my life."

"If that's what you want, then alright,” he reassures you. Of course you’d do whatever was best for you - you should know that he would always do what was best for you. “But why are you apologizing to me?"

"Because - because I don't think I can do this, if I'm reminded of Julian everyday,” you sob. “I don't want to forget him, but - but I'm also not strong enough to think about him every single day and be reminded of what happened to him all the time. I want a chance to get out.” 

He looks at you, trying to read between the lines of what you’re saying, and the realization dawns on him. The softness, the apologies - the way you’d let him hold you and have you wholly for the first time. The fact that you’d stayed. _You were trying to say goodbye._

He can feel the mounting panic that he tries to quell. You’ve obviously thought this through, that much is clear. You’re trying to do good, to be good, to shed the shadow of your father and he can’t fault you for that in any way. It’s the right thing to do, and he knows it. He’d thrown you a life raft the day he’d found you passed out on your living room floor, and he’d started to help you paddle towards shore. He hadn’t cared what land the two of you would arrive at - the only goal being arriving on solid ground at all. 

You look at him mournfully and take in a shuddered breath that he can feel rush through you as you’re still pressed against him. You stand in the cage of his arms, never once making an attempt to move away. “John, if you ask me to stay, I will,” you whisper nervously, your eyes meeting his, letting him see everything. “But, I am begging you, please don't. Don't ask me to stay. I have a shot at doing something good - something that has nothing to do with my father. Doing this job makes me feel like I'm making amends and undoing some of the bad that exists in the world. I'm starting to feel clean again. But I don't think I can do that if I have one foot in this world and - "

"And you can't do that if I'm around. Because I'm part of it. I'm part of this world."

You nod, taking another deep breath as the tears continue to fall. Down your face and his. 

"I love you." He can't help but say it. He needs to. He needs you to know, if only once. 

You smile despite the tears, reaching up to cup his cheek and he leans into it and he leans into you. "I know. But I don't think that's good for either one of us anymore. I used to. But I think the two of us are too broken in the same ways. We've both been on the outskirts of the same life and we're scarred by the same darkness. All of our jagged pieces, they fit so well together. But I'm starting to think that kind of love isn't the good kind. I don't really want jagged pieces anymore. I don't want to have to have someone fit me in order to round out my edges. I want to be whole all on my own. I feel like we both need that. We both deserve that - and I can’t give it to you.”

When you said it like that, how could he even attempt to disagree.

He releases the breath he’s been holding for the past while. Your arms are still wrapped around his waist, and he lets you - he lets you be his solace. He wraps his arms tightly around your back, pulling you into him, as close as he possibly can, head bent and resting on your shoulder. 

“What if I never love anyone like this again?” he asks, his words a mumble against your skin. You’re the person he talks to about things like this. 

You shift, moving your head back to rest against the brick walls, bringing both arms up, holding his face gently with both hands. “You won’t,” you tell him tenderly, tilting your head ever so slightly as your eyes meet his. “You’ll love them differently. But that doesn't mean that it won't be real or deep or any less meaningful - just different. Hopefully, with any luck, it’ll be better. Because you deserve the _world_ , John.” 

You rest your forehead to his and he lets himself bask in the feeling of you - you all around him, you everywhere, you in his arms. 

He prays with all his might, that you find what you’re looking for. 

*------------*

The tattoos had been his idea. He wanted something to always remember Julian by. But he was also a selfish man - he needed a tether - something to tie you to him forever.

You part ways outside the tattoo parlor, one of the bottles of champagne that he'd bought in your bag. He goes home alone.

You ride the bike back to DC and pop open the bottle of champagne on New Year's Eve all by yourself, drinking to a fresh start. 


	44. Wasteland

The door lies ajar, waiting for you. Aaron had disappeared past the threshold and out of sight, and your feet felt firmly planted to the floor, unwilling to move. The dread you're feeling about this upcoming conversation, overpowering everything else. You're not quite ready to talk to him immediately, the conversation with the team was still incredibly fresh as you try to make sense of the night's events so far.

John showing up out of the blue had been cathartic in a way, and you're not sure why you hadn't at least somewhat anticipated it. You knew you should've called him after your father's death, but back then you'd been so caught up in the torrent of everything else - with Aaron coming back and Emily being alive, the Senate hearing and you and Aaron not talking, mixed with the fear of the repercussions of you killing your own father. Reaching out to John hadn't been an immediate thought. By the time it occurred to you, it felt like it had been too late and you didn't want to stir up old wounds for no reason. You and John had done a remarkable job at a clean cut - you'd never once reached out and neither had he, respecting your decision.

Seeing him again - it was like your soul reuniting with its twin. Telling him everything had been so easy - he had been the one to see you through the worst time in your life. He had been the only other person equally devastated by Julian’s death. He’d been your friend and confidante. When you’d told him about your father, it had taken him a moment. A moment to process the gravity of it all. But then he’d looked at you and he was _so_ _proud._ No one else had ever understood - not Aaron, not Derek, not Emily. None of them understood that you had executed the only option. If your father could get Doyle out of maximum security in the Balkans, there hadn’t been a hope in this world that he would be truly punished for his crimes. Simply seeing him arrested would’ve never been enough. The Bible says an eye for eye for a reason. You’d had no choice. John knew. Only he knew. 

When he’d leaned down and kissed you afterwards, you saw it for what it was. It hadn’t been a resurgence of all of your old feelings for one another. It was new, hopeful - it had been the two of you how it was meant to be, freed from the shadow of Julian’s disapproval, family responsibility, and your father’s betrayal. But it wasn’t the same for you - not anymore. Not until Aaron had you understood the difference between a soul your own recognizes as its twin and one that it chooses as its partner. 

John had taken it well, all things considered. 

You could imagine after how you'd ended it, after the shock of it all wore off, how upset he must've been. The anger he must've felt. You'd ignored his feelings for the duration of your intimate relationship with him, finding it easier to shove them to the side in favor of keeping your head down and focused. It was only in the aftermath, after you'd removed yourself from the one track mindset you'd adopted in your charge towards bringing your father down, that you allowed yourself to really think about how badly you must've hurt him. You knew you had to remove yourself from his life in order to cause no further harm - for the both of you. 

John would forever hold a place in your heart. No matter how much you’d tried to ignore it for the duration of your relationship with him, you had loved him. He had been your love for years and years - starting as a childish crush and morphing into so much more. There were days during your relationship with Matthew - early on - when you regretted not ignoring Julian’s ultimatum to John. You’d nearly had a moment of weakness at Dom and Katie’s wedding - nearly asked John to not only be your first kiss but to be your first everything. But you’d known that he wouldn’t have been content with just that. Not then. You’d been far too in deep with doing the right thing by your family then. 

Of course it had come to a head when you’d realized that this could be your life - a life of being Matthew’s wife and being your father’s puppet. The Thanksgiving that Matthew had proposed, you’d gone home with the full intention of telling John you wanted out - out of Matthew, out of your father, out of everything. You wanted _him_. But then, he’d been with Cece again and he’d smiled when he spoke of her, his beautiful blue eyes twinkling with this happiness - that joy that comes from something new that is wonderful in the most unexpected of ways. You couldn’t do that to him then - not if he was properly moving on even when you’d been unable to after four years. Then of course Matthew had proposed and what else was there… You’d said yes because he’d asked.

After Matthew, after how he had treated you in the final months of your relationship, it was like you shut down. The number of times you left halfway with some guy, the number of times you tried to convince yourself to just close your eyes and do it with someone else, just once - just once to get it over with so you could move past the Matthew thing. You weren’t able to. Try as you might, Matthew had flipped something in you and you weren’t able to turn it back on your own. It would've taken a miracle for you to trust someone like that again. John had been your miracle. His grief-stricken face, his soft lips, his gentle touch. How could you not have trusted him? Even afterwards, when you realized that you needed more. More than was fair to ask of him. More than you could give back. He had given you _everything_. Done _everything_. Been _everything_. 

That final time, you’d gone back to him thinking you could finally give him everything too. He deserved it. He deserved you at your best. Even when, afterwards, you realized how intricately linked he was to Julian - how you couldn’t separate the two of them in your mind if you tried. They were brothers. They were brothers far more than Dominic and Julian had ever been. John, however, even then, when you knew you were breaking his heart and yours, he had been nothing short of perfect. _You owed him so much._

Getting over him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. 

Your arm is throbbing once again, so you make your way towards the kitchen, the sound of your heels echoing against the marble flooring. You take a couple more of the painkillers, downing some water, as you continue to stare at the opening to the bedroom, one hand clutched around the pendant dangling from your neck as your fingers fret around it.

You feel as though you’re staring into a dark pit while you try to gather your wits about you for the upcoming conversation with Aaron. You know - so very completely - how hurt he must be. Seeing John kiss you and then subsequently learning that you'd told John one of the biggest secrets of your lives alongside the rest of the team - none of this was easy. You'd had a near meltdown when an intern had so much as flirted with him - and that was an _intern_ who meant absolutely nothing. A stranger. He'd watched as someone who knew you at least as intimately as Aaron himself, kissed you. The two of them were probably the people who knew you best in the entire world and you'd always gone out of your way to not bring up John to Aaron. You know how you sometimes feel threatened by his connection to Haley - which is entirely irrational in and of itself, and yet it is there. You'd never wanted him to question his place and prominence in your life. John might know the old you, but Aaron knows you now, and no one could hold a light to him when it came to that. It's that thought - the belief that Aaron _knows_ you even if he doesn't know everything _about_ you, that gives you the courage to go to him.

You walk gingerly towards the bedroom, trying hard to tread softly so your heels don't hit the floors quite as thunderously as before. You're almost reluctant to cross that entrance. Only the dim lights around the perimeter of the room are on, casting shadows all around.

Aaron's seated at the edge of the bed, still fully dressed - sans jacket, which you'd left on the couch outside - feet resolutely planted to the floor, elbows rested on his knees and arms crossed loosely in front with his head bent downwards, staring at his own shoes. He doesn't look up as you enter, even though you're certain he can hear and feel your presence in the room. You carefully close the door to the room behind you, being deliberate to avoid anymore unnecessary noise in order to not bother any of the rest of the occupants.

"Aaron." Your voice comes out so low that for a moment you worry that you'd spoken only in your head and not out loud.

He doesn't even look up.

You falter. He's not even acknowledging your presence. The balls of your feet hurt while you stand near the doorway, thinking through your next step as you watch him sit on the bed, motionless. 

He's entirely in the right to be angry with you, and you know you need to allow him to be upset. He can't be made to feel like he somehow has to console you. In that moment, you make a deal with yourself. _You will not cry._ Not a single tear will fall in front of him, because you know Aaron. You don't want him to feel manipulated or otherwise influenced by your feelings and your emotions. He is far too affected when you're upset and will do everything within his power to make you feel better. He deserves to feel through his emotions without putting his needs on the backburner for you.

Making up your mind, you move towards him, stopping right in front and lowering yourself to your knees at his feet. Your heels dig into your behind, which you ignore.

You look up at him, placing your hands on his knees and forcing his typically warm brown eyes to meet yours. "I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm so sorry you saw that. I am so sorry," you breathe out, trying to maintain your composure and keep your hands from shaking.

He looks up at you sharply, his eyes flickering over your face, trying to understand what you’d just said. "Are you sorry that it happened or are you sorry that I saw it happen?" he rasps out, his throat dry and scratchy.

You're taken aback by his words, unsure of how to respond, realizing your slip. It was John though, and as much as you love Aaron, you have a very difficult time saying no to John for anything. Four years ago, if he had asked you to stay, you would have done it for him. When he'd kissed you, you hadn't pushed him away, despite not responding in kind. You couldn't bear to reject him that way. When the two of you had both seen Aaron standing across the street, when you'd told him that you were with Aaron, John had been entirely contrite, apologizing profusely, offering to go talk to Aaron himself if that would help at all. But, you can't bring yourself to lie to Aaron, and your subsequent silence tells him everything he needs to know.

You can see the faint glimmer of tears in Aaron's eyes before he turns his head away from you and blinks. You have to bite your lip and force yourself to focus on the stinging pain from that in order to prevent your own tears. You promised yourself that you wouldn't.

"I think I need some space," he says turning back and looking at a spot on the wall above your head, his words a whispered sigh. He won't look at you anymore.

Your hands are tight fists as you take in what he'd asked for, your heart threatening to burst out of its cage as it dawns on you exactly how bad this is for Aaron to ask for space. The two of you have never done that before. Arguments get resolved by bedtime. You both stay in the room and you talk it out until either one person gives in or you arrive at a compromise. Never once have you gone to bed angry with Aaron. It might work for some couples, but that had never been the case for you. But, if that's what he needs, of course you'll give it to him. You'd give him whatever he asked for.

You exhale on a shaky nod, lips tight so as to prevent the choked whimper in your throat from materializing. Dropping your hands from his knees, you push yourself up on your own, wobbling unsteadily in the heels, your eyes trained firmly on Aaron as you slowly back away towards the bathroom. Maybe if you just took a shower and he had a chance to sit by himself and think, he'd be ready to talk.

You look at him a final time as he continues to stare past you, before closing the door to the bathroom behind. You don't lock it - you never lock the door when it's just the two of you.

You turn on the shower, letting the loud rush of water be your cover as you finally allow yourself to fall apart. Stumbling out of the heels, you sink to the floor, thighs meeting your chest as you drop your head to your knees, unable to hold in your tears any longer. You can feel yourself tremble as you're fully wracked by sobs - the overwhelming feeling of dread and impending doom taking over any rational part of you, as your breath swells and your lungs struggle to pull in any air at all. 

Your mind is a swirl of the past week - of Aaron and you that first night in this very bathroom, of him holding you after you made the deal with Terry, the night up on the roof where he pledged forever to you, his face after the fire. On a loop - Aaron being giving and kind, Aaron comforting you, Aaron loving you, Aaron worrying about you. He was perfect. You were anything but. 

At least ten minutes have passed, if the small clock on the counter is accurate, before you have enough control over yourself in order to stand up and slip out of the dress, resorting to yanking it off clumsily since you couldn't reach the zipper without help. You catch sight of your reflection in the mirror - your makeup had bled down your face and your previously sleek ponytail is held together barely after you'd run your hands through it only minutes ago out of frustration at your inability to stop crying.

You finally stand under the steady stream of hot water, letting it scald your skin as you try to burn away the memory of tonight - of John's kiss, of Aaron's face afterwards, of his unending silence and empty stare. You scrub your skin harshly and lather the shampoo vigorously through your hair - the disappointment in yourself for having been the cause of Aaron's pain, propelling you to take vengeance upon your own body as penance.

There's a part of you that expects him to enter the shower after you as he often has before. Slipping in behind you and taking you in his arms, telling you all is forgiven and that you're both alright, before meeting your lips and erasing even the impression of another's lips against yours to dust. _What wouldn't you give for that to be the case._

Your fingers have pruned considerably and the steam in the bathroom is starting to suffocate you with its heaviness before you feel prepared to face him once again. You dry yourself off with a fair amount of trepidation, as the anticipation of speaking with him builds. You find an old pair of pajamas in the closet, foregoing grabbing the pair in your go bag so that you can emerge fully clothed, instead of appearing to be attemping some sort of cheap ploy for his forgiveness.

You steel yourself in front of the door, fully dressed, semi wet tendrils of hair falling down your back as well as by the side of your face. You open the door and exit back into the room, only to find it empty. You think maybe he'd gone to speak with Rossi or maybe even Emily - get some sort of outside perspective on the matter. You can't fault him for that. Either one of them would only help. However, as you make your way into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, you notice that his jacket that you'd set on the arm of the couch is also missing.

He'd left.

*------------*

Aaron had stared at the closed bathroom door after you'd disappeared behind it. He hadn't heard the clicking of a lock, so he knows you've left it open for him if he so chooses.

His mind is reeling from everything and he hates himself for acting so cold towards you while he processes it all. It's very much like how he was with Haley when they would argue - he'd shut down emotionally and take the time to process his feelings and then discuss them with her afterwards. While that wasn't necessarily unhealthy, it wasn't how things worked between you and him. You two talked. He explained his thought process to you because you would also at least understand his reasoning even if you didn't always agree with it. He could tell you why he was being a certain way or why he'd made a particular call and instead of getting upset with him about it or refusing to even consider his reason as valid - which was how it often went with Haley and ultimately led to him withdrawing explanations around his decisions - you listened. You gave him the time and opportunity to talk through his rationale and if you had logical or even emotional reasons for disagreeing with him, you'd explain too. Fights with you were nothing like fights he was used to in a relationship. With the pure standout exception of the time after you'd resigned, you'd never once raised your voice at him and he was cognizant of never doing the same.

His vision had blurred after you'd crossed the street and approached him. Things had felt hazy around the edges.

The walk back to the apartment had been miserably long despite being maybe only five or ten minutes. He finds himself shutting you out because that was an easier way to keep himself in check.

He hadn't expected to feel the rage that he did. Disappointment and sadness was one thing - hurt feelings, sure. But anger was simply not a feeling that he associated with you and he's not sure where it's stemming from exactly but he knows it isn't just about the fact that he saw someone else kiss you. It's not about the kiss because that's how he keeps framing it to himself - _someone else kissing you_. There had not been a single thing that made it seem like you had kissed back and in his gut he knows you hadn't. So it's not quite the kiss itself that he's angry about, but it is something.

Aaron had listened intently when you'd explained to the team why you'd told John about the Doyle mission. How he'd been the only person you'd had in the aftermath of Julian's death - how he was the only one that understood. That John _deserved_ to know. Aaron wanted to challenge that - what exactly had John done that earned him that particular privilege? Not like he'd know even if John had done something especially remarkable - you'd never spoken to him about John. Not to him at least. Morgan apparently had known. Aaron hadn't. He has to wonder why that is. _What is it about John that makes you not want to talk to Aaron about him?_

He'd gone into the bedroom afterwards and waited for you, unsure of what to expect. His head feels heavy and he just slumps down as he waits, the coiling pit in his stomach feels like lead. He'd give just about anything for this entire week to have never happened. He should've just told you to stay home and enjoy your time off and none of this would've happened. If he could close his eyes and wish it all away, he would. In a heartbeat. He would.

You'd walked in and then before he could quite bring himself to look up, you'd crossed the floor and were right in front of him. The next second you're kneeling at his feet and that surge of panic he feels comes out of nowhere because _what was this_. He couldn't have ever imagined you kneeling in front of him in this manner, in such obvious repentance, and _he doesn't want this._ He doesn't want this at all but he's entirely frozen as the panic winds itself around his veins and squeezes tight, holding him in place. You tell him you're sorry - you're sorry that he saw. You hadn't wanted him to see. _So, are you sorry that it happened or sorry that he saw_? When he asks you, your silence seems to stretch out for an eternity as the panic gives way to the much uglier rage that he had pushed down outside the bar earlier. He can't possibly ignore what you said.

He needed space. He'd never quite needed that from you before, but right then he'd never felt more disconnected from you. He couldn't understand anything you'd done that night - from leaving with John, to telling him about Doyle and your father, to being kissed by him, to the apology you'd given Aaron. None of it made sense to him. He had to force himself to ignore the look on your face when he said he needed space. That entirely broken and confused look that would tell him you were in the same dark place he was because this wasn't you and it wasn't him and the two of you just…existed with one another so easily it was like there wasn't even another person there. _So how could he possibly need space from you?_

Before he could stop himself, he'd left the bedroom and was downstairs in front of the building. He had needed a moment to clear his head - fresh air - before he spoke with you again and he really didn't want to risk misspeaking and inadvertently making the situation worse. Hearing the shower turn on in the bathroom, knowing you'd left the door unlocked in the hope that he might just decide to let it all go - he couldn't just give in to that quite yet. He wasn't able to even if he tried.

Aaron could feel the rage boiling in his chest again as the scene of John kissing you plays over and over again in his head. You had allowed it. There was really no way around that. Maybe he hadn't known and maybe you hadn't reciprocated. _Maybe_. But you'd allowed it. You'd allowed him to get close. Allowed him to lean down. Allowed him to meet your lips. Allowed him the chance to linger. Allowed him to move away at his leisure. You'd allowed it. All of it. _What the fuck was he supposed to make of that?_

You were sorry that he _saw_ \- he can't help but repeat that over and over in his head. _Did you even feel remorse that it happened at all?_ If your apology was to be taken at face value, then no. He can't help the rage that thought induces - the idea that you were perfectly alright with someone else kissing you. Not just someone else either - John. John whom you had gone with so willingly. John who you had gotten matching tattoos with. John who had known you in New York and likely knew all about you. John who had been there for you your entire life and had history with you that Aaron couldn't hope to compete with.

To top that all off, you had gone and told John about the Doyle mission. A classified mission. You hadn't even simply told him the high level details that he had carefully articulated in the case. You had told him everything - the cleverly disguised secret that he, Morgan, and Prentiss all kept for you. You had left them all open to implication and they'd all just trusted you. While he trusted you too, you could've at least asked him or talked to him about it beforehand? You could've run it by him and see if maybe it wasn't such a good idea. Yet you hadn't. You'd just gone off and told him and he was supposed to be alright with it. Accept it.

He walks a couple of laps around the block of the building, the night chill forcing him to burrow into his jacket further. It smelled like you - the scent of fresh pears and freesia mixed with the sweet vanilla citrus smell that seemed to always linger on you no matter what, invades his senses and he suppresses an audible groan at the memory of that scent wrapped around him. They say smell is the best memory agent and Aaron was very much struggling to repel the memories the scent of you carried with it. He didn't want to think of you in that way.

He'd walked a couple of blocks further and found himself back outside the bar the team had been at earlier. Wanting a reprieve from the chill and perhaps a drink to calm his nerves, he enters into the warmth of the bar, gratefully taking off the jacket as he goes. He finds a spot to one side of the bar top opposite from anyone else and waits for the bartender to notice him. The bartender appears to be engaged in a conversation with a regular and Aaron isn't immediately successful in getting his attention. Before he can attempt again, he feels and then sees from the corner of his eye, a body slide into the stool right next to him, despite there being quite a few open seats down from him.

Aaron turns to see the same man from earlier, his leather jacket in one hand and a crystal glass of amber liquid in the other, settle down next to him. He freezes entirely. Aaron had not prepared for this possibility.

He watches apprehensively out of the corner of his eye as John settles in, and then turns to the bartender. "Tom," he calls out in a familiar manner, "Can you get this man here a drink?"

There was an ease with which he carried himself, Aaron notes. He's a regular at this place too - likely had been with you. He's undoubtedly nervous, the slightly tensed shoulders and fidgety fingers giving him away. He hasn't quite looked in Aaron's direction entirely yet, and Aaron wasn't about to be the one to initiate whatever this was. He watches as the bartender - Tom - turns away from the other customers and grabbing a bottle of the same top shelf scotch you keep stocked at home, he settles a glass in front of Aaron and pours out two fingers worth. He also refills John's glass at his indication, before turning away. 

Aaron stares at the drink in front of him, shoulders very tense, waiting. The drink was an obvious gesture of peace, but the loop of John kissing you earlier is on repeat with drums on in his head. His hands tighten into fists, resting on his thighs, jaw clenched tightly, the warmth in the bar becoming just this side of too much.

"We didn't get a chance to be properly introduced earlier," John says, finally breaking the silence, his voice a little heavier and his speech indicative of him having already had a couple of drinks prior to Aaron's arrival. "John Hawthorne," he says, pointing to himself, "and you're Aaron Hotchner."

Aaron blinks, entirely unsure of how to react, apprehensively looking up until he meets John's eyes. Aaron nods once, slowly, eyeing him carefully, trying to work out exactly what his agenda was. John was tense as well, looking at Aaron cautiously. It was a near bizarre situation to even be sitting here side by side with this person and Aaron felt wholly unprepared. He's not sure what life experience could possibly have prepared him for this - with Haley he hadn't even confronted _her_ directly.

A part of him wants to just get up and walk away, but he feels compelled to stay - like no matter what happens next, he should see this through. He turns away from John and lifting the glass, takes a sip of the scotch. The familiar taste sits on his tongue and then rushes down his throat, leading to a pleasant burn in his chest that really warms him up. _At least now he knew where you acquired a taste for good scotch from._ He briefly wonders what else you'd gotten from John, before shaking that particular train of thought away.

John mirrors his action, as though drinking a shot of liquid courage, even though Aaron is quite certain by now that this is well past his first drink. However, he's a pretty large guy and it appears to have only loosened him up rather than making him drunk. Aaron is careful not to look too closely at the tattoo on John's wrist. It's familiarity serves only to cause a pang in his chest, a physical reminder of how very intimately he knows that date which he really didn't care for at the moment. It was a bit ridiculous how viscerally physical of a reaction he has to even memories of you.

Apparently having drawn the strength he needed, John continues. "I'm sorry," he articulates, "about earlier," undoubtedly referring to the moment when his lips had touched yours merely an hour or so prior. Aaron wondered whether the outline of the two of you under that street lamp was burned into the cement pavement underneath. His eyes had bored into you hard enough. It was a possibility.

Aaron bites his tongue to avoid reacting outwardly. It was an apology, sure. So far, a better apology than yours had been, discounting the fact that John hadn't gotten down on his knees.

"I didn't know she was with someone. I am sorry if that caused any problems for the two of you."

Aaron grunts, finally acknowledging that he'd heard and takes another sip, choosing to focus fully on savoring the taste of it on his tongue before allowing the burn to settle in his chest. He really had nothing to offer there - even if words were possible he wouldn't know which way to string them together.

"Though," John breathes out a humorless half laugh, "I guess it did cause problems if you're sitting here with me and not back with her."

Aaron's jaw clenches at the jab, whether intentional or not. Perhaps the two of you had gone to the same pretentious day school where they taught how to craft together not-so-great apologies.

John backs up a little, clearly picking up on how that had gone over.

It's quiet for a bit as the two of them drink silently side by side. Aaron has nothing to say to John. Yet, at least. His thoughts go back to what you'd said earlier to the team - how John had been all you'd had after Julian died and you learned the truth. He feels his intestines coil with the realization of how entirely alone you'd been then. You'd been twenty two years old, all alone, fresh out of an engagement with your entire world crashing around you. Julian's death was one thing, but finding out that it was your father who'd made the call was soul wrenchingly horrifying. You'd gone overnight from being a Harvard graduate with her entire life in front of her to questioning everyone and everything. John had been there - he had apparently been the one person you could bring yourself to put some faith in.

"She told me, you know," John says, his voice a near mumble that Aaron has to strain to hear over the noise in the bar. "About what you did for her - with her father...thank you."

Aaron finds himself nodding. _Of course you'd told him that as well._ He looks at the man next to him carefully. Seeing John sitting there - despite everything - that was proof that the two of you would seemingly do anything for each other. Aaron doesn't know if he could've sat there in John's place. But John had sat and apologized and that was a lot more than most people would be able to do. Aaron knows he's doing it for you.

"That vengeance, that drive to conquer him, for a while that was the only thing that kept her going - as ugly as it was, it was something," he adds. "The pain of losing Julian and finding out the truth about him, it was all too much for her." His hands shake a bit around his glass. "There was a time - back then - when I'd go to bed every day scared I'd lose them both."

There's something about John's words that prickles a thought in Aaron's brain and he turns to look at John, his eyes downcast, fingers fidgeting with the rim of his glass, shoulders hunched and turned ever so slightly away from Aaron. He was the picture of a man who had said too much, and Aaron finds himself going back and dissecting that confession. _He'd been afraid to lose both of you…_

It's quiet again while Aaron broods on what was just said and John sits stoically beside him, keeping him company in his meditations.

Aaron couldn't discount the importance - that position John held in your life. He was more struck by the fact that, despite the significance of John in your life, he'd hardly ever heard of him. He's left feeling like there were two versions of you - the one that you showed him and the real version. The version that had been systematically sequestered away in Manhattan these past few years as though it had no significance to the person you were today.

He realizes that was at least a large part of the anger. The entire week had been a walk down memory lane for you, revealing all of these parts of your life that he knew about in only the vaguest of senses. He had been led to believe that he knew everything there was to know about you and he was confronted with the reality that that might not be the case. It had all culminated with John, but truth be told, John had merely been the tipping point. He'd been feeling odd about this the entire week, from the moment you'd mentioned you still maintained a residence in New York.

He looks at John again, whose head is bent over, shoulders hunched as he focuses on the drink in his hand. Aaron can feel that your secret is safe with him, despite not knowing him at all. You trusted him. That's what mattered.

"She seems happy," John says, speaking up again as he turns to look at Aaron, having felt his gaze, a small smile on his lips in contrast to the sadness Aaron can see evident in his eyes. "I didn't really see her happy until that last time, and I know that you and your team are the reason for that happiness - that you especially are part of that."

Aaron has to suppress the smile that almost appears on his face. He covers it with the glass of scotch in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth once again. It was somewhat validating to have someone who knew you so well attest to your happiness - yours and his and your collective happiness. Aaron hadn't been around for your lowest points - he'd run when Emily died and in the aftermath of your father's death he'd been estranged from you. John had been there after Julian. Of all people, he had been witness to the wasteland that you'd inhabited in the aftermath.

John had been there. He'd been it for you.

Aaron thinks he finally understands what you meant when you said that you were sorry that he saw it happen - he's pretty sure it would've happened no matter what. He can't quite blame John for seeing you after God only knew how long, thinking you had finally vanquished the evil that was your father, seeing you happy - he might not be alright with what had happened, but he could follow the thought process.

The ill will Aaron had felt towards John was slowly lifting. The good scotch definitely helped.

"You know that last time, she seemed lighter and happier than I'd seen her in two years. She came for Christmas and it was like having her back - it was what I'd been waiting for that whole time. She told me about some kid's birthday party she was going to - we talked about what presents a two year old would want and it was funny because she had no idea," he said, a fond smile on his face.

Aaron chuckles, surprisingly even himself. "I'm pretty sure that was our son Jack's birthday," he says, before realizing his own words. He did think of Jack as yours - has forever. But it was one thing to think it, and another to verbalize it to a near stranger. Especially this one.

John seems momentarily surprised but takes it in stride, and Aaron can't help but feel his respect for this man grow. It would take a lot for someone in his position to not react to a statement like that.

"How'd he like the Lego Death Star?" John asks, remembering what the two of you had landed on as an appropriate present.

"We spent a few weekends building it. It still sits in his room," Aaron replies, allowing his shoulders to ease up.

John smiles. "Good. She would've never come up with that on her own, you know. She was looking up stuff online and was about to buy one of those little car things, but I figured not all parents want their toddler zooming around in a scale replica Lamborghini."

Aaron actually laughs at that. Of course that's what you'd thought to get for Jack, never being one to do anything small. As much as Jack would've loved that, him and Haley would've had their hands full running after him.

It was good to know that some things about you were still very much the same as they'd always been. That birthday party had been towards the beginning of you, him, and Jack hanging out together. In the early days, that’s primarily what happened. Aaron had been fresh out of the divorce with Haley and he was struggling with Jack. It made him feel like a poor father - one who couldn’t take care of his son by himself. Over time it had gotten a lot easier, but those first few months of his and Haley’s arrangement had only been bearable because of you. You’d helped make that transition so easy. You had such a natural and effortless relationship with Jack from the start - he’d envied it. Both him and Haley had struggled in the beginning, as he was sure that all new parents do. It’s likely a lot easier when the child isn’t entirely your responsibility. However, regardless of that, having you around with Jack had helped a lot. He remembers how you’d gotten him a Smithsonian family pass, and it had resulted in you being asked to accompany the two of them as the pass accommodated up to four people. In that time, he often fantasized about asking you out - just you. Without a Jack in one hand and a bag of snacks and juice boxes in the other. But he didn’t think it would go over well. You were there for Jack. Any friendship you and Aaron had was a byproduct of that. Over time, sure, things had changed. But there was always that nagging voice in his head that told him that you were with him because of Jack. 

He’s driven out of his thoughts by a friendly nudge to his shoulder. Aaron shakes himself out of his reverie, a little surprised by how at ease he felt around this guy. He didn’t think that would have been possible an hour ago and yet here he sat beside him, having a drink together, sharing a laugh. It was truly a strange turn of events. 

John nods towards the empty glass in front of Aaron, “Another?” he asks, eyebrow quirked up in a manner that feels far too familiar. 

Aaron notes the time on his watch, realizing he’s been gone far too long - longer than he’d meant to be away for. 

He shakes his head and stands, grabbing his jacket, before turning to John. “Next time,” he says with a slight uptick of his jaw, sticking his hand out. 

John appears surprised by Aaron’s words, and it takes him a second to react. However once he does, his smile reaches his eyes and he shakes Aaron’s hand firmly. 

*------------*

Realizing that Aaron had left had pushed you into a near panicked state, and you'd had to force yourself to not go to Emily’s or Derek's rooms and simply cry. He'd left and that was not something you'd been prepared for at all. If he'd left - he'd been unable to be around you for even a second more - that could only mean the worst.

He'd needed space. This night had been a lot - for both of you - and he had said he needed space. You'd thought that meant like half an hour so you'd taken an extra long shower. But now…did that mean more? Did he mean that he needed space from you entirely?

You do your best to control your breathing as your brain goes into overdrive. It was much harder without him there to help you, rubbing your back and whispering soothingly into your ear. 

You needed something to focus on, so you decided to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer before doing another run through of the bedroom and closet gathering any remaining dirty clothes. You manage to sweep both the common spaces and the bedroom while you wait. Wait and think. There wasn’t much else to be done. 

If Aaron wanted space - true space - if he wanted a break or even to break up (the thought alone made you want to curl up into a ball and lie on the floor again) - however if that was what he wanted, he was well within his rights to demand it. While you might not think you'd cheated, there was a possibility that Aaron had, especially after you'd admitted that you'd done nothing to stop the kiss, merely hadn't reciprocated in kind. But perhaps that was enough. With Aaron especially, someone who valued loyalty so highly, it might be enough.

There's always been a part of you that thought there was more to his and Haley's divorce and Aaron was never one to speak ill of Haley, but sometimes you wondered. Derek had told you that Aaron had requested a transfer at one point, which had somehow gone away very close to his and Haley's divorce.

Maybe it wasn't even the kiss though, but everything else around it. Bringing up all of the stuff with your father, John, Julian - stuff that for the most part is not brought up anymore. You've noticed - _how could you not_ \- that Aaron has struggled this week upon learning a lot of your past. You know the stalker thing bothered him even if he didn't vocalize it. You know the photographers bothered him even if he played along. John definitely was part of the reason for the upset currently, and in many ways John was periphery to everything else. You were the eye of the storm - your very presence brought with it chaos. It was too much. It was all far too much for any reasonable person to want to handle. You were too much.

It would be a lot for a normal person - someone with a laidback job who could afford to extend themselves to the specific brand of bedlam that you tried to sell in a pretty package. But for Aaron - the man who already carried the burden of the world on his shoulders - it was far too much to expect for him to bear this as well. You shouldn't. A better person - a _good_ person - would leave him in peace. A peace that can't ever really be achieved when your mind itself is the source of tumult. Sure, you put on a good act, but Aaron can see through the cracks, you're sure. This week had given him a front row seat to exactly how fucked in the head you really were. Good girls, normal girls, they don't invite stalkers, they don't have paparazzi following them, they don't have ex- _whatevers_ showing up just to be told about the secret mission where they murdered their own father.

Not for the first time, you find yourself thinking how much better off Aaron would be with someone else - someone sweet and kind whose hands were clean. You had far too much red in your ledger to make up for. Things he didn't even know about. Things no one knew about.

You try to do your best to compartmentalize. As difficult as it was in this case, you needed to separate your feelings from reality and manage them individually if possible. If Aaron's intention would be to end it, then what? You'd have to sit down and talk to Jack - hopefully together. Explain that things would be changing a bit, but that it wouldn't change anything between you and Jack. Knowing Aaron, by now, he'd want you to be in Jack's life still even if he might not want you in his. The primary goal for the both of you would be to ensure that Jack's life didn't lose the stability it had.

It would be easier for you to move out rather than to have Jack and Aaron move. But then Aaron would get all weird about staying in your home even though it's been his and Jack's home as well. But initially, at least, it would be easier for it to be just you - until you can help him find a different place. You could easily just stay in a hotel temporarily. You're away a lot lately anyways. Make things easier on Jack, Mrs. Avery - their routines didn't have to change. Speaking of Mrs. Avery, you'd need to talk to Aaron about working something out for her payment - right now Aaron paid for her but that was without rent and she wasn't exactly cheap. You could change the stipulations of the trust to cover any of Jack's expenses - assuming Aaron was alright with that.

Then there was the matter of the Christmas in Paris booking - you'd have to contact your travel agent and figure that out. Maybe you could rebook it and Jack and Aaron could still enjoy a trip, maybe even Europe still. Jack had been really looking forward to it. He wanted to have scones in England and croissants in Paris. That kid was just as much into pastries and dessert as you were. Aaron blamed you for that entirely. 

But then - he'd promised he wouldn't leave you. Aaron was good at keeping his promises. He might also feel some sort of odd obligation to hold himself to that promise he’d made to you in the beginning. That he wouldn’t break your heart. In which case, maybe it was up to you to rip off the bandaid. Do what he couldn't. It would be less painful for you both in the long run. Cut your losses now, before too much was invested. You'd only moved in together and while there were days you felt like you were practically married, that really wasn't the case at all. He wouldn't have to wait as long as he had after Haley. It wasn't a divorce really. A breakup. A simple breakup. People breakup everyday. In a few months or a year he could find someone else. Jack was an adorable child. Anyone would love to be around him.

Breaking your own heart was allowed. 

You would be alright, you told yourself. Eventually. You would have to work out some sort of agreement with him about Jack. Maybe every other weekend. But you would be alright. Eventually. It would suck of course in the beginning, but well, you were busy. You'd been debating the whole partnership with Clyde and telling him you were out after this assignment wrapped up, but that didn't necessarily have to be the case. You could transfer. You could move entirely. The world was your oyster. You'd just have to figure out something with Jack.

When it came to the team, McKinney's redesignation of you couldn't have come at a more opportune time. More likely than not this was one of your last cases with the team, so it shouldn't change the dynamics there too much. Emily and Derek would try to blame him, but you'd sit them down and explain that it was your fault. You were the culprit, the reason it didn't work out, not him. He had done his best to put up with all the baggage you came laden with and truly it wasn't his fault. It was just too cumbersome to help carry for any person. Especially if they came with heavy crap of their own. 

The dryer beeps and you go to take out Aaron's load of laundry out and carry it into the room, dumping it onto the bed so that you can fold it while it’s still warm, to avoid wrinkles. He hates wrinkles. 

It would be alright, you chanted to yourself repeatedly. Everything would be alright. He would end it, and you would survive. You could survive it. If he couldn't, you'd have to do it for him, and that would take its toll, but it was better for him and for Jack. It would be alright. You just had to keep telling yourself that. You've survived worse than being broken up with by Aaron Hotchner. This too shall pass and all that. 

You get up to grab Aaron's go bag from under the settee so that you can put his clothes away in there. It feels empty save for one thing rattling around in there at the bottom, and you're about to unzip it and put everything away, when you hear the door to the bedroom open. You'd been so focused on the task at hand that you hadn't even heard the elevator come up.

You turn and see Aaron, who looks at you apprehensively. You feel your stomach clench at the sight of him. Setting his bag down you silently move out of the way, shifting towards the bed.

There’s a beat where he just watches you from the threshold and it is overwhelmingly tense. Then he enters, closing the door behind him silently. 

Aaron proceeds to where his pile of fresh laundry sat on top of the ottoman and he starts changing, shedding his clothes. You avert your eyes, instead focusing on the pattern of the duvet cover, following the lines there instead.

_Was he expecting you to speak?_ He'd been the one to say he needed space, and you weren't sure it was your place to be the first to speak up now. He had seemed to make it clear that he'd rather not hear what you have to say, and you can't blame him. You'd apologized and even that hadn't been quite right because you'd messed up and stated the truth.

"I'm sorry."

You look up at the sound of his voice. He's changed into his pajamas and for a second you find your eyes trailing over him entirely before you snap yourself out of it. _This could be the last time you see him like this_. You blink to refocus on him as he stands, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. At least he was talking to you. He doesn't seem angry really but you find yourself unable to otherwise read him. 

You must look confused, because he clarifies, "I'm sorry for leaving."

You nod, standing up. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice incredibly hoarse, forcing you to clear your throat. 

A large sigh leaves him as he shifts and begins to walk closer. You brace yourself. _Here it comes._

"Y/N, this week - this entire week - I feel like there are so many things I don't know about you."

Suddenly all you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears, as you force yourself to nod. You have to ball your hands into fists to hide the shakiness, nails digging into your palms. 

"I don't think it can go on like this."

Right - of course he's right. It couldn't. You can't expect people to be confronted by your past and all the weird, messy, ugly, scary stuff and want to stick around. Before, maybe, he'd thought of you - outside of the whole business with your father - as just that girl that works with him. Now, however, he wouldn't be able to look past everything as it confronted him too head on. So he was going to do it. He was going to end it. This was it.

You nod again, your vision blurring at the edges as you continue to stare at him. You can feel the air rush away from you and the walls feel like they're closing in. 

_I can't do this._

"I - I'm sorry," you manage, before quickly brushing by him and running to the bathroom, closing the door behind you, clicking the lock into place.

_I can't do this._

_I can't, I can't, I can't._

Your breathing becomes harsher by the second and the tears are there and your hands are shaking and it's really, really hard to think or stop. The blood was pounding in your ears and your heart was thudding loudly and you wanted it to stop. You’d give anything to make it stop. Silence. You need complete silence. _How do you claw your way out of your own body to achieve it?_

Your hands cup your face, feeling the tears there despite trying to stop. You can feel your nails dragging down your face, fingers trembling on the way down. _Why was breathing so hard right now?_ You can feel your windpipe closing while simultaneously feeling bile in your throat.

On the other side of the door, Aaron's eyes had widened as you came towards him, and then quickly rushed to the bathroom. He worried for a second that you're about to be sick. However, he then hears the click of the lock behind you - that's when he starts to actually panic.

He tries knocking on the door, softly calling your name to avoid being too loud and waking anyone else. All he hears is the sound of you breathing far too heavily and _he needs to get in there dammit._ His knocks become more urgent the longer it goes on.

He has no idea what's going on. He'd anticipated a conversation with you - the two of you were good at that. You could talk things out. He was calmer now. He'd tried to talk and you'd been listening and then all of a sudden, he didn't know what happened.

It takes a couple more minutes for you to truly calm yourself down. You can't cry in front of Aaron. You’d promised. You can finally make out him calling your name from the other side. If you'd been trying not to freak him out, that had obviously not worked out too well.

Releasing a shaky breath, you wipe your face, splashing some cold water to hide the more obvious evidence of your little breakdown. You'd convinced yourself you could face him, but he'd surprised you. It was okay. You knew now, going in. You'd be ready. _You can do it._

With a trembling hand, you unlock the door and turn the knob, nearly running straight into Aaron. He looks thoroughly agitated, as though he was minutes away from breaking down the door and you feel your heart clench. Even moments away from ending it, of course he’d still care so much. No. You will yourself to become numb to it all. Numb to him. That was the only way to make it through this. Feel. Nothing.

You take another deep breath as he backs away, allowing you room to exit the bathroom, and you close the door behind. You look up at him, immediately regretting looking into his overly concerned, warm brown eyes. _Why did he have to look at you like that right now?_ He really needed to work on appropriately timing his concern for people.

You look away quickly. You nod at him shakily, half attempting a smile, but _what even was a smile?_ "It's okay," you tell him, your voice nearly robotic, nodding again, unsure which one of you you're really trying to convince. "J - Just do it."

Aaron looks at you, a perplexed expression mixing with his worry as he stands incredibly close to you. _Why was he standing so close?_

"Do what?" he asks, reaching out towards you, his large warm hand brushing some of the hair away from your face, pushing it behind your ear. 

You look at him sharply, trying hard not to lean into his touch. Something clicks in that moment as you watch him standing far too close to you. He's not moving away either. He'd just touched you. He wasn't…he didn't know what you meant when you said…

He wasn't.

_But does that mean that you have to be the one to do it?_

You shake your head, taking in a shallow breath as you try to wrap your brain around what was happening. Or not happening.

"I was trying to say, earlier," he starts, still looking at you apprehensively, as though he could see past your cover up job in the bathroom, "that I don't like feeling like there are a lot of things about you - about your life - that I know nothing about. While I understand th - that is something that happens over time, I just feel like there are some gaps that I would like filled."

You find yourself trying to comprehend what he'd just said, trying to rewire your brain from fight or flight mode to actually listening to him. He just wanted to…know things. He said nothing about the kiss.

"That's it?" You look up at him, certain that it could only be some sort of trick. A bait and switch. But that's not really an Aaron thing to do. So, if he was being sincere…

"I'm not thrilled about tonight,” he concedes, his lips a thin line. “But I understand how it happened. I get that John is important to you.”

You nod again. It feels like your brain is working only in slow motion because the simplest of things are taking a while to really work their way through the processing channels. He gets that John is important - he genuinely seems to believe that. 

"Now I understand that filling in the gaps - that isn't an overnight thing. But over time, I would appreciate it if you could just be a little more upfront and tell me these things. Even if you think they don't matter. That they're in your past. Just tell me, please?" he asks, his eyes pleading with you. 

You weren’t losing him. He wasn’t trying to end it. It didn’t _feel_ like he was doing it merely out of obligation. So...that was good. 

You find yourself nodding fervently, trying very hard not to cry. He just wanted to _know_ things. Maybe it would be too much, maybe. But tonight had been a lot too, and he'd handled it well enough. Afterall, the two of you were standing there now. Together. That had to count for something. He said it didn't have to be immediately. You could tell him over time, everything. It was Aaron. He'd likely understand - he was good at that. Especially with you. And well, if it was too much, maybe you'd cross that bridge when you get there because at least for now, you'd have him. 

It was selfish - delaying some sort of inevitable. But maybe it wasn't. You stood to lose a lot more if you didn't just take a leap of faith. Believe that he'd understand. If anyone could, it'd be him.

"Oh sweetheart, come here," he says, both of his hands reaching out towards you and wiping at the tears that had fallen regardless of any attempt on your part to keep them at bay.

"I'm sorry," you wept, letting him grab onto you and pull you closer. He was so warm. He was always so warm. He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed, sitting down with you in his lap, allowing you to calm yourself as he soothingly rubbed your back.

"I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't cry," you mumble against his neck, tightening your hold on him.

Aaron shakes his head, reassuring you that it is alright, and takes a deep breath that you can feel in his chest. His hands, soft, warm, and pleasantly calloused rub circles on your back under your shirt. You just want to melt into him, let the wax of your being meld with his. 

You can feel his breath against your skin and you can’t help but press a kiss to the side of his neck while you continue to cling to him. It’s different with Aaron because with John, you’d never actually feared losing him. With Aaron, the thought of not having him one day eats away at you, constantly. 

Aaron’s still comforting you and you can’t help but feel bad about it. Today was still your fault and you want to make sure that everything is truly alright. You want to be certain that he feels good about the two of you. That’s what was most important. 

"Are you sure you’re alright with everything?" you ask, moving to look at him, your hand cupping his face, thumb rubbing over cheeks. 

He nods, but you can see that there's something. Something else bothering him. Something that he seems reluctant to voice.

"It's okay, just ask. It's okay," you reassure him. It was better to just get it all out now. One fell swoop.

He worries his lip as he looks at you, as though wondering how to get it out properly. Swallowing, he asks, "Would we be together if it weren't for Jack?" He eyes you nervously, as though he’s afraid of the answer and even more afraid that he voiced the question as all. 

Aaron doesn’t feel great about asking this now, but he agrees with you that it is better to get all of this out of the way so that the two of you can return to being on the same page. No matter what, he doesn’t think it will change much, but he wants to know for his own peace of mind - understand where he stands. 

You still, your shoulders tensing and your brain going into hyperactive mode again. That wasn't what you'd expected at all. _Did Aaron think that you were only with him because of Jack?_ Had you done something to make him feel that way? You know he's entirely serious about the question as he looks at you. You can see the insecurity and nervousness that had sat behind this question and you wonder how long he's felt this way. How long this has eaten away at him.

With a short sigh, you shift slightly. You want to be honest about this, because you know it's important to him. It’s important to you as well - for him to never question exactly where he stands when it comes to you. 

"No," you reply. You can see him recoil almost immediately, so you're quick to continue. "But not because of what you might be thinking,” you say quickly, tightening your hold of him and forcing him to stay still. He pauses and nods, urging you to go on. “Aaron, I'm not playing house here. If I wanted a kid, there's other options. Adoption. Me not being able to have a kid - that's mostly speculation. It could still happen."

He nods, but you know that he's still focused on that _No_ from a second ago.

"Aaron, before I joined the team, Emily had been there an entire year. How often did the two of you hang out together?"

Aaron looks at you, starting to piece together where you’re going with this. He shakes his head. They hadn't.

"Exactly,” you emphasize, cradling his face in your hands. “Because you don't _do_ that, Aaron. You don't just let people in. I got in because Jack and I bonded first. You let me in because of Jack. You let me see you with the walls lowered - you let me see you beyond Agent Hotchner. You let me see _you_. That would've never happened without Jack. You keep your walls up at work so high that hardly anyone can traverse them. Jack was my ticket in. So no, if it weren’t for Jack, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be together. I would’ve always been Agent L/N to you,” you finish softly, looking into his eyes to make sure he understood. 

He takes a breath, processing what you've said. You're right. He knows you are. It was silly to think you were with him just because of Jack. Jack isn’t even around and you’re wrapped up in his lap. He can’t help but feel a little stupid for even questioning it at all. However, part of him is glad he had. Even if he should’ve just known, it was good to have it confirmed nevertheless. Hearing you explain it that way made a lot of sense. Sure he was friends with the team, but he was really only good friends with Rossi. You were right - he didn’t go out of his way to have intimate relationships with his coworkers. Even now, all the parties and hangouts, he’s pretty certain you’re at the center of most of the team socialization. You’d bridged the gap between him and the rest of them. 

"Anything else?" you ask somewhat teasingly, a soft smile gracing your face as you look at him fondly. He might be a bit of an idiot when it came to realizing that people loved him and cared for him with no hidden agenda, but well, he was your idiot. To think that you were with him because of Jack was laughable at best. You had Jack even before you and Aaron were together. It was about Aaron. About how his arms wrapped around you. About how he made you feel. About how simply being around him made your heart sing. 

He shakes his head, a smile finally breaking out across his lips as he leans in to capture yours. It’s an affirming press of his lips to yours as he holds you to him as closely as possible. It feels like coming home. 

Maneuvering the both of you around, he places you next to him on the bed, pulling the blanket around both of you. You curl into his side and he can feel your fingers run lightly against his stomach as you’re pressed against the length of him. He reaches for your hand, lifting it up and looking at you disapprovingly as he notes the indentations in your palm. You hide your face from him a bit as he brushes over the marks lightly with the pad of his thumb. 

Something prickles at the back of Aaron's head as you snuggle into him. Something John had said to him at the bar. The way you'd responded to him taking space, how you'd planned to not cry in front of him, instead you'd done laundry and evidently cleaned. It was telling. You'd obviously planned out a contingency plan. An exit route for yourself. It was something that was most often seen in people who… The actual realization hits him - what John had meant when he said he'd almost lost you.

He looks down at your peaceful face, burrowed into him, your legs entangled with his as much as humanly possible. His breathing must've changed, because you look up at him curiously.

He shakes his head, trying to smile so as to not worry you. He couldn’t quite believe it and he definitely wasn’t sure he’d arrived at exactly the right conclusion. But he wants you to know…just in case. "My world wouldn't be the same without you in it,” he breathes out, looking at you with immense care and love, so that you know. So that you know that it won’t be easy on him if you weren’t around. So that you can’t rationalize away your absence. Because it would be felt. It would be felt harrowingly. 

You smile at his words, entirely unaware of the intention behind them, reaching up and quickly pressing a kiss to his lips. He can feel your smile in your gesture. 

Burrowing back into the warmth of the blanket, a soft laugh and eyeroll escape you and he looks down curiously. "Penelope was wrong," you shared, your words slightly muffled against his chest. "You're totally a Hufflepuff."

Aaron looks at you, his face marred with confusion. “What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" he groans, rolling over so he can face you and hold you tucked into him. 

The only response he gets is a peal of laughter, reverberating through his ribs and the warm press of your lips to his chest.

*------------*

David Rossi woke up early the next morning. Clubbing and drinking till late at night was for children. He wasn't quite so young anymore, and instead of nursing a hangover, his body decided to be wide awake at an inhumane hour.

He gets dressed, and instead of trying to finagle your complicated coffee machine, he heads down to grab one from one of the street carts.

He's paying the man for the coffee, when his eye is caught by a photo in one of the papers. He leans in close, just to make sure he's not seeing things. But no, he wasn't.

There you were and there Aaron was, dipping you down, his mouth latched onto yours.

He laughs and looks back at the man, holding up the paper in his hand. "However many copies you have of this, I want them. I want them all."


	45. Je t'aime

Aaron was seated in his office on the last day before the mandatory BAU Christmas holidays. Come rain, shine, or serial killers, he was determined to get the entire team a well deserved break. There was an excited buzz in the bullpen that had settled in over the past couple of days. Morgan and Garcia were headed back to Chicago, Rossi was set to spend time with Strauss and her family, JJ and Will were hosting his brood from New Orleans, and Prentiss was making an obligatory visit to her mother. The entire team was set to reunite on New Year's Eve before heading back to work bright and early January 2nd.

He'd already worked out a straggler group of back up agents in the event something really did come up, but otherwise everyone was under strict orders to relax. Aaron, especially, was determined not to take a single work related call the entire week and a half. You'd been away - God only knew where anymore, he'd lost track a while back - but you'd worked it out with Clyde so that you'd be free for Christmas in Paris with him and Jack. Aaron would be lying if he said he was anything less than absolutely thrilled to have the chance to get away with you and Jack. Jack had been bouncing off the walls since the week prior when his vacation had started, and was looking forward to your return and the trip just as much as Aaron was. It wasn't lost on him that this was the first trip the two of you were actually managing to take, despite numerous conversations with that intent.

Both him and Dave were going through the year end reviews and finalizing everyone's bonuses in his office, when there is a knock at his door, prompting both of them to look up.

"Hey," you smile at the threshold, causing his heart to leap just slightly at the sight of you. You stood there, leaning against his doorway, wearing a thick coat and looking like you'd just gotten off the longest flight of your life. He hadn't seen you in over three weeks - right around Thanksgiving, which he'd had to leave halfway through due to a case. Leaving you and Jack behind during a holiday had made him even more determined to make sure that your Christmas plans went off without a hitch.

"Hi!" His smile could be heard in his voice as he eagerly gestures you in, resisting the urge to get up and grab you in front of Dave. Not that Dave would mind really, but there had already been one too many sexual harassment seminars the past few months and everyone was keen on avoiding a repeat. He'd had to have a rather uncomfortable conversation with both Morgan and Garcia, which he knew had fallen on deaf ears. When he'd told you this over the phone, you'd laughed at his misfortune and proceeded to suggest things the two of you could do around the office to garner a special seminar for yourselves.

You shake your head smiling wider at his reaction and nodding a greeting towards Dave, but otherwise not wanting to interrupt. "I just wanted to see if I could get a ride home." You'd obviously taken a cab straight to Quantico from the airport, likely wanting to get your report to McKinney before the three of you flew out the next day. You were already cutting it close to the wire - originally he'd expected you back a couple of days ago. 

"Yeah, of course. We'll be wrapping up soon," he says, gesturing towards the pile of paperwork sitting between him and Dave.

"Take your time. I'm going to go say hello to everyone. Just wanted to make sure I caught you before you left me stranded here," you joke with a slight laugh. _God he'd missed that laugh._ The phone was a poor substitute for the real thing. "Rossi, let me know if you need anything for the party."

"Just you, kid. It's been a while," Dave responds and Aaron can tell he's quite happy to see you as well. If it had been three weeks for Aaron, it had been quite a bit longer for everyone else since they'd last set eyes on you.

You depart with a nod and another sweet smile that really tests his self control, closing the door behind you as you go. Dave turns to him, eyebrows slightly raised in a manner Aaron is far too familiar at being on the receiving end of. "This is what, three weeks now?" he asks. Aaron is fully aware he's being scrutinized for some sort of reaction.

"She likes it. She's good at it. I won't discourage her from doing what she wants to do," Aaron responds in a practiced manner. Dave had been on him ever since New York. He'd been the only one to really pick up on the fact that something had been off with the two of you that final night, or at least the only one brave enough to bring it up with him directly. If Morgan or Prentiss had said anything to you, he hadn't heard about it. Dave had cautioned him - reminded him of his own second marriage to Hayden which had fallen apart because their career aspirations hadn't lined up. Aaron hardly thought that was the case with the two of you, and had been quick to brush it off. There was no conflict between you and him when it came to your jobs. He missed you, sure. Of course he did. But it wasn't going to be this way forever. You hated the separation and grueling schedule just as much as he did. You were merely determined to see this through. The real reason for the conflict in New York was not something he was about to share with Dave. That was between you and him.

Which was not to say that the job wasn't taking a toll of its own. He had of course noticed how overworked and stressed out you had seemed leading into the holidays - even with the scant few times he got to actually be around you. You were really trying to hold it all together but the demands of the job were starting to take over and he realized that your role was a lot more like what Prentiss's must've been when she was playing the role of Lauren Reynolds. You would come back every couple weeks and try to make up for your absence - being his comfort when the two of you happened to be home at the same time, catching up with the team, cheering for Jack at his soccer games and being the loudest spectator possible. You'd even wrangled Prentiss into waking up early one Saturday, and the two of you had sat at the sidelines with coffee cups that he was certain weren't coffee at all. He'd given Prentiss a disapproving look, knowing that was entirely her doing and she'd retorted by telling him that if she was going to be cheering on his child at a 9AM soccer game on her one day off, then he had to be alright with her bringing along incentives. You'd thrown him an apologetic look when Emily was distracted, sitting in your chair, waving around a sign for Jack's team. His expression had softened considerably at the sight of you fully bundled up, as you tried to get in time with both Emily and Jack. You were trying.

When asked how the assignment with Interpol was going, your response hadn't been what he had hoped for. You'd told him that you were starting to have an odd feeling about the case - nothing identifiable or obvious, but something was off. You couldn't tell him the details, and when he'd mentioned speaking with McKinney, you'd gotten an odd look on your face that gave him pause. You'd explained it away as you not wanting to appear incompetent in front of the Director, but he can tell there's something more to it - something even you weren't able to pinpoint quite yet, he thought.

In the aftermath of New York, you'd kept up your side of the bargain remarkably well. The two of you had discussed quite a lot more about you and John and your collective history. Learning more about the dynamic there definitely helped him make sense of John's overall interaction with him at the bar that night. While he still wasn't thrilled to learn about this older boy that had been around your whole life, planning a relationship with you, he could see how it wasn't exactly as inappropriate as it appeared on paper. There had been an endearing quality to John and he didn't have to be a profiler to know that there was a great amount of love and respect there, on both of your parts. Finding out that John's father - your godfather, Uncle Robert - had been the one to tell you the truth about Julian's death and then subsequently been there to help you in the aftermath - it was no wonder you had been as close to John and his family as you had.

Even the one thing that should've given him pause - learning that your motivation for joining the Bureau was rooted in revenge against your father - hadn't been quite the shock it should've been. Surprisingly, that part he was easily able to wrap his brain around, especially when he reconsidered your interview. There had been a near desperation to it beneath the veneer of preparedness and confidence that you'd exuded that day - which explained why you'd gone so far and beyond expectations to secure your spot. Aaron was easily able to overlook that when he learned how quickly you'd set it all aside in the hope of having a true fresh start.

He wouldn't kid himself and think he knows everything there was to know about you - that would be unreasonable. Even he had things in his life that you didn't know about yet. However, he feels like the two of you are in a much better place, and the ease with which you had actually opened up to him gave him hope that it could only get better.

*------------*

You woke up early the following morning, despite having felt dead on your feet the day prior. You'd spent the past three weeks going from Bulgaria to Hungary to Romania, chasing down leads with Clyde. You're pretty certain you're closing in on your target. You only hope that things will go smoothly, despite that pit in your stomach telling you to look deeper, further - there was something not quite right about the case. Something tingling at the edges of your mind with a foreboding familiarity. Aaron had asked last time how the case was going and you'd been in much the same place, unable to put a finger on what was wrong - just that something was.

However, that morning, with the early sunshine sweeping into your bedroom and Aaron still warm and asleep behind you, the case was definitely on the back burner. You're determined to enjoy your vacation. It had been three weeks since you'd really been around Jack and Aaron, and you've started feeling like a negligent partner and parent to them both. They don't complain - they never do - but you've started missing stuff. Soccer games and holiday recitals have fallen through and while Jack doesn't say anything you know he's disappointed. You hated missing out on these milestones with him.

The last time you'd been home, you'd done your best to get the entire house ready for Christmas. Aaron had had to leave the Friday after Thanksgiving for a case, so that had given you and Jack two days to transform the entire house into a winter wonderland. You'd had to figure out how to get a tree - something you'd never bothered with for yourself - however, once you did, both you and Jack had had a ball decorating it entirely. He'd been able to put up the star on top using a step ladder and you'd sent a photo to Aaron as you'd be gone by the time he returned. Aaron had come home to string lights around the entire exterior of the house, all the décor changed to fit a seasonal theme, and one of the largest Christmas trees he'd ever seen, decked out entirely - Jack's handmade ornaments from every year on prime display.

Those two days with just you and Jack felt like an eternity ago now as you laid in bed, head facing the windows as Aaron is wrapped behind you, his breath warm at the back of your neck, his arm weighing you down pleasantly. You'd missed him quite a bit. It made you feel like some sort of clingy, needy girlfriend with how entirely you'd pined for him the entire time you'd been apart. You'd never really been like this around anyone else, but Aaron made it so that around him you can't help but be the softer and more delicate version of yourself. Last night, being reunited with him, being cradled in his strong arms, having his lips brush and press and move against your own, the scent of Irish spring and the woodsy balm overtaking your senses, being with him once again wholly - it had been _so entirely long_ that the gravity of the complete experience had been profusely overwhelming in an entirely unexpected manner.

Through the rush of endorphins and the haze of the moment and the sheer ecstasy coursing through you, you hadn't realized you were crying in the aftermath until Aaron had looked at you with quite a bit of concern. You couldn't explain it. So Aaron held you, pressing warm kisses to your face as he let himself settle on top, crushing you in the best of ways and leaving the two of you blissfully connected.

You must've fallen asleep soon afterwards, because you're on your side and you can tell someone had cleaned you up. You're dressed in one of his T-shirts, that is far too big on you, to protect from the chill, and you know that must've been his doing. He knows how you despise feeling cold. Even now, he's entirely wrapped around you, one arm under your pillow, the other draped across your middle, one leg jutted between both of yours. He wouldn't let you feel cold - not when he could be your personal heater.

Aaron had packed for the both of you before you got back, having received a list from you on everything you'd need for the trip. You wouldn't trust most people, but Aaron was good at sticking to lists and anticipating anything additional. That made the morning before your departure much simpler as the three of you got ready and ate breakfast at a leisurely pace, leaving plenty of time to arrive early at the airport despite the snow covering the roads. You're certain to run into the holiday crush of travelers, so you give yourselves plenty of time prior to the flight.

Jack had breezed through security and you place your coat and shoes on the beltway, before walking through and being reprimanded by a loud beeping noise. Groaning, you go back and check your pockets for anything left. Aaron is still waiting, keeping an eye on Jack who was already through. You're about to admit defeat when you realize it might be the jewelry you have on still.

"Help me out?" you ask, turning to Aaron and moving your hair out of the way for him.

He's quick to move his fingers to your neck, feeling around for the clasp and undoing the necklace you haven't taken off since he gave it to you for your birthday. You turn around to face him with a smile of gratitude, "Hang on to that, will you? I'll come back for it," you tease, eager to keep up the fun and flirty mood that the two of you had embraced fully.

Aaron smiles and nods, gesturing you forward, as he watches you walk through the metal detectors once more, successfully this time. He walks through, holding on to your necklace, and the TSA guys give it the once over with their wand, before allowing the three of you to pass. Aaron is quick to help you get your necklace back on as you all get your coats and shoes past security. He loved that you wore it all the time - a very visible sign of him with you always.

The three of you had arrived at the gate with about an hour to spare prior to boarding, and Jack had located a spot for you to sit. Aaron mans the carry on bags while you and Jack wander around the terminal and into the stores to keep entertained. When you come back, Aaron can see a plaid scarf around Jack that hadn't been there before. He looks up at you, eyebrow raised in some amusement that you'd managed to shop before you even departed.

"Got you a matching one," you tell him, taking a second scarf out of your bag and wrapping it around Aaron's neck as Jack laughs at his father's exaggerated disgruntlement. "There," you tell him, adjusting the scarf properly and smiling down at him, "You look great - very continental."

"I'm sure the French will appreciate my continental attire," he snarks gently, grabbing onto your hand that's still fussing with the scarf and dragging you towards the seats.

"Europe is cold," you defended yourself as you sit down beside him, Jack happily engaged with his book that he'd grabbed out of your purse, while Aaron shakes his head at you, a small smile on his face as you leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. The only shops open were high end designer ones and he could only guess how much you'd just paid for two scarves.

Once the three of you board and are settled into the family pod area that you'd booked, with Jack settled into the window seat and already reading again, Aaron has the chance to voice a question he's been thinking ever since both you and Jack had looked at him oddly when he'd started to make his way to the back of the line for boarding. He hadn't realized you'd booked First Class tickets for the trip and to be fair, it was probably for the best that he hadn't because he's certain he would've protested against it. However now, seated quite comfortably for the next eight hours, he's having a hard time finding anything wrong with it.

"Have you ever even flown Coach?" he asks, a slightly bemused look on his face as he takes in his surroundings. He has the realization that there is a high chance Jack will never be flying Coach - not if you have anything to say about it.

You're seated between the two of them, legs folded underneath you. "Do I detect some judgement there?" you ask, making sure that Jack is well situated and knows where all the controls are.

"Not judgement," he hedges, "Curiosity."

"Mmhm, sure," you say, having ensured that Jack was alright, and moving once again to lean against Aaron. You'd been incredibly touchy the last day or so and took every opportunity to be near him. He wasn't exactly complaining. "For the record, yes. Once," you tell him, as his arm comes to wrap around your waist, squeezing firmly and dragging you closer. "Back in high school, when I was attending Le Rosey in Switzerland my junior year, John and I surprised Julian for his birthday and met up in Ibiza. My father would've noticed a First Class ticket on my card but an Economy one could slip through the cracks," you reveal, remembering all the lies and maneuvering you'd had to do to ensure you wouldn't be caught sneaking out of school.

Aaron chuckles at the thought of an Economy airplane ticket going unnoticed on a teenager's credit card. He appreciated that you could tell him a story involving John so casually now, as he listened to you telling him all about how they'd snuck you into all of the clubs and how you'd spent an evening dancing with the Hilton sisters. It was nice to have come as far as the two of you had since New York. Dave wasn't correct in his assessment of the tension between you and Aaron. There really wasn't tension as much as there was agony at how much the two of you had been apart lately. Last night had been proof of that for him, the entire experience having been torturously, wonderfully, shattering for you both. Being able to just hold you in his arms once again, having you solid and real next to him, that's what he'd been wretchedly craving in your time apart. Mindful of his son seated just a foot away, he places a quick kiss to the side of your neck as the two of you continue chatting. _This. He'd really missed this._

*------------*

Christmas Eve marked the third day of your stay in Paris. The first day, you'd landed and hit the Notre Dame, walked along the Siene eating croissants, and ended the evening back at your hotel, where the in house restaurant boasted a remarkable night time view of the Eiffel tower. Both you and Aaron considered yourselves lucky that Jack was old enough and interested enough in everything to really enjoy all of the food and sights. He was also taking his job as photographer very seriously, as you'd gotten him a little camera for the trip, and would make you and Aaron pose multiple times just to get the right shot. The second day, the jet lag caught up with the three of you as you went from museum to museum, braving the crowds, finally collapsing at a Creperie for a late lunch. You'd finished off the night with ice skating over looking the Eiffel tower and a traditional French dinner, during which Jack had been brave enough to try escargot. He might not have enjoyed it, but at least he hadn't spit it out.

That morning, Aaron awoke first, feeling like he'd woken up from the best night's sleep he'd had in quite some time. You were still asleep next to him, your chest rising and falling slowly with every deep breath. He hadn't woken before you the last couple of mornings, which had alerted him to the fact that you hadn't been sleeping too well. You only woke up first on the nights when sleep was hard to come by for you. However, right then, with your face peaceful and your body warm and soft against his, tucked securely beneath the large blanket, it appeared that you'd finally managed to get past whatever had been keeping you from getting the rest you truly needed. He adjusts so he can hold you easier, careful not to move too much so as to disrupt you.

Through the grogginess of the early morning, he can make out the sun peaking through the curtains, the snow fall promised nowhere in sight, and the clock on the wall indicates that it is still relatively early. He finds himself just watching you, taking in the way your eyes flutter ever so slightly, your dark lashes kissing your cheeks, the way your lips are still delicately swollen from his ardent attentions the night prior, and the darkening marks smattering your skin, speaking to his claim on you. He's well aware that there are near mirror image bruises coloring his own body - proof that he's just as much yours as you are his. It's that possessive streak that he has never quite been able to shake when it came to you. That first time with you, it had merely slipped out - a manifestation of the more primal side of him that sought to own you fully - keep you for himself. He'd thought it would wane - dwindle more and more after each time and yet it persisted - persevered and thrived at your permission - equal possession over him, the only levy imposed.

He's broken out of his covetous examination of you by a quiet knock at the door and Jack's voice coming through. Quickly, he gets out of bed, tying a robe around himself and making sure you're fully covered, before he answers the door to his son.

"Good morning, buddy," he greets, stepping outside so as to not rouse you. "You sleep okay?"

"Yeah. I'm hungry," Jack answers, following him to the couch in the common area, where it was evident from the book and video games that Jack had been up for some time already.

Aaron looks at the time again, and decides it would be an appropriate time to grab some breakfast. Instructing Jack to get showered and dressed, he heads back to your room. He's reluctant to wake you - not when you're finally getting some sleep. So, making a quick decision, he goes to shower and texts your phone to inform you that the two of them stepped out to grab some food and would bring some back for you. As he leaves the bathroom, you're still asleep, your breath fluttering the hair that had fallen into your face. He leans down and moves it away, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before wrapping the blankets closer around you. As he moves towards the door, he pauses as you finally shift, grabbing his pillow in your sleep and pulling it closer, wrapping your arms around it in lieu of him, your eyes still shut tight.

Aaron and Jack, bundled up in knit hats and the scarves from the airport, trudge through some snow on the pavement, walking down a few blocks from the hotel, towards a café you'd pointed out the day prior as having good coffee and pastries.

Figuring Jack wouldn't be averse to pastries, the two of them headed down, talking about the day's plans. There was a holiday cruise down the river planned for lunch, with shopping afterwards. Interestingly for Aaron, Jack was actually looking forward to the shopping. You'd shown him some of the children's clothing magazine catalogs and he had his eye on some items apparently. Aaron can't help but laugh a bit at the pieces of Jack's personality you've ended up impacting - giving him a taste for all the finer things in life. Which was not to say that Jack was entirely spoilt, but the kid had an eye for color and style that was definitely not a product of him nor Haley.

The two of them settled into a table inside, grateful to be out of the chill, and ordered what was likely Jack's fifth croissant since you'd all landed a couple of days ago. Aaron looks around the café that is decorated for Christmas with wreaths at the register and at each booth and a large tree in the corner, and he can quite easily picture you here back in college, dressed primly, seated at one of the tables outside in the summertime with a glass of wine as you watched people walk by the bustling side street.

"What was your favorite piece in the museums yesterday?" he asks Jack as the waiter drops off a coffee for him and a hot chocolate for Jack. Jack was firmly of the opinion that French hot chocolate was superior. Aaron was of the opinion that it was nothing but pure melted chocolate that would rot his teeth, but the two of you had ganged up against him and Jack was allowed to have it as long as they were in Paris, under the agreement that he would never ask for it back home. This was to be a purely vacation only indulgence.

Jack considers the question, appearing deep in thought as he dips a piece of croissant into the chocolate and pops it into his mouth. "The Hercules one - the one Y/N got a picture of me with," Jack responds finally, thinking back to how you'd told him the entire story of the sculpture artist at the Museo d'Orsay - really putting your Art History degree to use. "It looked like Hercules from the movie. They should've had one of Meg too, though."

Aaron chuckles and decides to get that photo framed for his office.

The two of them chat a bit more about the different sculptures and paintings from the day prior, and Aaron was proud to note that Jack could pick out how a lot of Monet's work looked like the watercolors that spanned the walls back home. Between the piano and his interest in art, there was a good chance that Jack was going to turn out far more creative than either one of you.

"I think Y/N has it planned so we can go picnic in front of the Eiffel tower tomorrow," Aaron says while they wait for the waiter. You'd found a company that set up picnics with heated lamps in the grass lawn overlooking the tower and had been quick to schedule one for the three of you following a morning of apartment hunting. You all were set to meet with your realtor who had picked out three places that suited all of your needs. He knew that Jack was very intrigued by the idea of picking out an apartment in Paris that they could come back to anytime. Aaron himself had been a little reluctant when you'd told him about it - not so much because you were buying an apartment, but because you truly seemed to want his input on the matter. It had taken some convincing for him to realize that you genuinely meant it and the thought had filled him up with a glow - the realization that you were just as much thinking of the two of you together for the future as much as he was.

Jack nods most likely seeing another opportunity to talk you into buying him more pastries. However, Aaron can tell his son has something more he wants to say, so he pauses and waits, making no move to get up as the waiter drops his card back at the table.

"That man last night," Jack begins, fidgeting a bit in his seat, "when he proposed to his girlfriend - that means they're gonna get married, right?" he asks, looking up at Aaron with a peculiar expression on his face.

Aaron thinks back to last night when the three of you had gone ice skating, which was what Jack was referring to. You'd all gotten there in the evening and rented skates, Jack zooming off ahead, his time practicing with Jess and his cousins having paid off. Aaron himself hadn't skated in years and you had to hold his hand as he struggled around the perimeter of the rink. You were of course an excellent skater - you'd reminded him that your Swiss boarding school had a winter campus and ice skating and skiing were practically mandatory activities. The two of you skated around slowly, one eye on Jack, with your hands clasped tightly together to avoid being separated in the throng of skaters. It had been a cold evening and a light snowfall had begun. He watched other couples move by hand in hand, everyone enamored with the lit up tower behind the rink - the everlasting symbol of love and romance. He'd encouraged you to go on ahead and skate with Jack after a while - leaving him to cling to the edge and snap photos of the two of you. You'd been reluctant, but he'd insisted, so you'd carefully left him, ensuring he had a tight grip and was firmly leaned against the boundary. Aaron had watched as you quickly weaved through the other skaters, getting to Jack just as the snowfall began in earnest. You reached Jack and grabbed him, helping him accomplish the leap he'd been attempting for the past ten minutes. He watched as you helped his son up when he fell down and brushed him off, making sure he wasn't hurt. The two of you skated past him a few times, hand in hand as the wisps of snow settled in your hair, your eyes twinkling with joy as you and Jack dashed around the rink - the string lights around the arena serving as your halo.

The man Jack was referring to had indeed proposed to his girlfriend on the ice, drawing the attention of the entire crowd. You and Jack had found yourselves next to Aaron as the man knelt down on one knee and asked his girlfriend to be his wife. Aaron hadn't been able to look at anything but you while you watched the proposal, your arms wrapped around Jack as he stood in front of you, a large grin on your face. He'd looked beside him at the two of you - you and Jack - and he'd known that everything he needed in the world was right next to him.

The crowd had cheered for the new to-be-wed couple, clapping and congratulating them. Jack had clapped, as had you, turning to look at Aaron who bore a curious expression on his face. However, when your eyes met his, his heartbeat sped up as he took you in entirely - your reddened nose and flushed cheeks, the childlike excitement for the couple, how you had one hand gripped around Jack at all times to make sure he was alright, your eyes gleaming as though starlight - it had been enough to give him heart palpitations.

"Yes, they're going to get married," he confirms, nodding at Jack, and wondering where exactly this train of thought was leading.

It's quiet for a few seconds as Jack seems to think through his next words. "Jeffrey's dad proposed to his girlfriend, and they got married, and now he calls her his mom."

Aaron vaguely recalls a boy named Jeffrey from Jack's class, however he hadn't known quite so much about his family life. "When parents get married, that can happen," he acknowledged, having an idea of what Jack was getting at now.

"Are you going to propose to Y/N?"

Well, he hadn't quite thought his son would be that blunt about it, and it gives Aaron pause, wondering what exactly was the right thing to say to a six year old on the matter. "Jack, do you want to call Y/N your mom?" he asks, countering with his own question, before he decides how he wants to answer Jack's.

Jack contemplates the question, his fingers fidgeting again with his jacket, and Aaron is struck once again by how much of you is in him. "Jeffrey said his new mom packs his lunches and picks him up and helps with his homework. Y/N does all of that too, even if she isn't here, she helps with homework when we talk."

His son was smarter than he gave him credit for, that much was quite evident to Aaron in that moment.

"Jack, if you would like to call Y/N mom, then that's something you can definitely do. You just need to ask her if it's alright first." The two of you hadn't quite discussed it, but he was pretty confident you'd be nothing short of thrilled if Jack approached you for this.

"But I can't," Jack insists with a huff as if Aaron wasn't quite understanding what he was trying to say. "Not until you marry her. That's the rule."

Aaron sighs, running a hand through his hair as he looks at his son, lower lip jutted out the slightest bit in his annoyance with his father in that moment. "Jack, if I tell you a secret, can you promise that you won't tell Y/N?"

Jack loved secrets. He'd been more than happy to help keep the two of you being together a secret on the occasions he happened to be around the team prior to the two of you being exposed. Jack nods eagerly and leans in, the very picture of interest.

"Now, I need you to be very _very_ sure that you can keep this secret, because it's really important," Aaron cautions, still a little unsure of himself. Jack nods fervently face scrunched up in utmost concentration. "I am going to propose to Y/N - very soon."

Jack's eyes widen and the grin that splits out on his face tells Aaron everything he needs to know about how his son feels about this news. "You guys are gonna get married? Really?"

"If she says yes, then yes we will get married. But, Jack, you have to be careful. Y/N doesn't know yet and it'll be a lot more special if it's a surprise. So, you can't tell her or anyone else - your teacher, your friends, no one. Not even Uncle Rossi. Do you think you can do that?"

"I promise Daddy. I won't tell Y/N or anyone," his son states, a determined note in his voice as he does.

"Thank you Jack," Aaron says, as the two of them stand to leave, a box of pastries and a cup of coffee in hand for you, to take back to the hotel.

By the time the two of them get back, you'd already awoken and gotten dressed for the day and you greet Jack with a smile and a hug, sweeping him into your arms. In that moment, Aaron knows without a doubt that he's about to make the absolute best decision of his life in asking you to marry him.

*------------*

Jack was too excited and had woken the two of you up bright and early to congregate by the tree in the common room, under which you'd all placed your presents when you first arrived. Christmas Eve night, Jack had paraded out after dinner in a red and green flannel pajama set to set the mood for Christmas. It turned out, the two of you had planned this and there were matching pants waiting for him as well when he exited the shower. He exited to the common room in his towel, holding the pants in his hand, only to find the two of you cuddled on the couch reading together, with you dressed in the exact same set. Aaron had grumbled light heartedly about the matching outfits, but that morning, with the snow falling outside the window and your Christmas playlist on in the background, it really did feel quite perfect.

Jack went first, opening up the presents from both you and Aaron - a new video game for his handheld console that he'd brought along and a beginner's book of sheet music for the two of you to tackle next.

You go next, opening Jack's present first, revealing artwork for you to keep at your desk, along with a note instructing you to ask Aaron for the next piece of the present.

Raising your eyebrow at the two of them, you turn to Aaron and hand him the note.

"So, you know how Rossi messed up recording the Holiday Recital?" he asks, a grin on his face as you catch him winking at Jack.

You nod. You'd given him some grief about it as he'd been in charge of making sure a recording made its way to you, since you couldn't be there in person. Last time any of you trusted Rossi with any technology.

"Well, Jack had the idea to put on a special concert, just for you." With that, Aaron brings out his phone and holds it up for you, pressing play on the screen. There, on the screen are Jack and Aaron, wearing the costumes from Jack's holiday recital, recreating the entire thing in your living room at home, with Jack singing lead and Aaron doing every backup role he can manage jumping from one side of their makeshift stage to the other.

You could hardly believe it, as you looked from the screen to the two of them. Jack was watching you nervously and Aaron couldn't look prouder and just a little bit embarrassed. You feel entirely overcome by emotion as you continue to watch their performance to its end - taking in their off key rendition of Jingle Bell Rock and the amount of work and passion that had so obviously gone into the endeavor.

"Thank you both, so much. Oh my goodness," you say, dragging Jack into a hug and kissing all over his face. "Thank you baby, that was really special and you sounded amazing!"

"Yeah, you liked it?" he asks, grinning up at you.

You nod, laughing as you turn to Aaron. "You know, I now have video evidence of you singing, right?"

"There's a reason I'm keeping this on _my_ phone and haven't sent it to you," he retorts, laughing at the insulted expression on your face.

"Alright, here you go," he says, handing you his present.

You rip open the wrapping paper to reveal a leatherbound book without anything on the outside. Curiously, you open it and turn the pages to reveal recipes - very familiar recipes. You look up at Aaron, surprise painted on your face. "These are mine."

He nods. "I took notes whenever you taught me any. I've added a couple of mine as well. There's some empty pages towards the back for us to add on to."

You can feel your eyes welling up at the thought and care that he put into the present, and you move closer to him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Aaron."

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and squeezing tight. The warmth from his touch rushes through you.

You take a deep breath and smile. "Alright, it's Daddy's turn," you say, turning to Jack and prompting him to hand over his present to Aaron.

Jack had created another piece of art for Aaron's office and also picked out a tie with you during one of your video chats together. The kid really did have good taste. He'd outshopped you when the three of you had gone to the Champs-Élysées yesterday, before Aaron had whispered to you that maybe there should be a budget for a six year old's wardrobe. He hadn't been wrong, so you'd guided Jack into picking items that he wouldn't grow out of too quickly and could use for a few years - scarves and hats, along with some shoes and a coat that was a size too big.

Aaron thanks Jack for his presents, before turning expectantly to you, an excited grin gracing his face. You'd always gone above and beyond for presents - even back before when the two of you had just been friends. While he insisted it was all too much, he couldn't help himself from secretly really enjoying the process - everything you'd ever gotten him was well cherished, so he's gotten better at stifling the guilt that came along with accepting your presents.

You hand him a wrapped square box that has some weight to it, and as he unwraps it, he can feel the nervousness pouring off of you. That was definitely a little unusual. Usually it's more just excitement to see his reaction.

He opens it to reveal a watch box - for a designer that he knows is anything but cheap - and as he opens it, inside is a watch with an intricate face. Gold accents all around and the dark brown leather band all paint a picture as if they're from a different time. He can tell it's vintage and he looks up at you, eyebrow quirked in question.

"When Uncle Robert accepted his role as my godfather, my grandmother gave him this watch," you tell him slowly, as though gauging his reaction.

Aaron is well aware that your Uncle Robert is also John's father, so he understands where that nervousness was stemming from now.

"After he passed, we went through some of his effects, and this watch made its way back to me. I wanted you to have it, because without him, I would've never met you."

Aaron can understand and read between the lines of what you're saying. Without knowing everything that Robert Hawthorne had told you, the two of you would have never met, you wouldn't be sitting there now, both of your lives would look entirely different. So, despite how awful and heartbreaking and life ruining his news had been, you're grateful. You're so very grateful. Because it all led you to him.

"I love it, thank you sweetheart," Aaron whispers, and with a quick glance at Jack who seems otherwise occupied with his video game now, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, reassuring you that it was indeed the perfect present.

He picks it up and looks it over, noticing an engraving on the back.

"I had that added," you tell him, having noticed what had caught his eye.

There on the back of the watch were words that caused his heart to falter and his breath to stutter as his eyes took them in and his brain made sense of them in the context of you and him and the two of you. He looks up from it, to you - how far the two of you had come in just about a year of being together. Jack settled onto the couch, munching absent mindedly from the tray of room service that had been delivered. You settled in next to him, trying to steal as much warmth from his as possible, with your toes scrunched up under his thighs. The three of you, there, together in a way he'd longed for and prayed that Jack would get to have one day. You'd made it all possible for him - for them. In that moment, he can't help but feel his chest expand with happiness and gratefulness - for the three of you to have one another.

_Love is space and time measured by the heart._


	46. Salve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback Chapter set between Chapter 14: Superheroes and Chapter 15: Foyet.

The bar was thrumming with activity and the energy that accompanies people who've all had a long, hard day at work and would like to do nothing besides forget. The team had gotten back from a case in the evening, and with only Friday separating them and the weekend, had all decided to head out for a night of drinking.

You look around, your hands wrapped around a glass of scotch - Derek, Penelope, and Emily were dancing in the makeshift dancing area, JJ was playing darts with some guys, Spencer was cheating people out of their money at a game of pool, and Rossi had long ago excused himself to go sit by some woman at the bar. You'd be dancing too, but the unsub had gotten the jump on you during the takedown and you'd been nursing a sprained ankle ever since. Hotch had stayed with you - whether it was simply to keep you company or because none of the other activities appealed to him, you're unsure. Likely the former - he was pretty good at darts too.

He's sitting across from you in the booth, a glass of scotch in his hand as well. He doesn't make a face when he drinks it, which you have to admire - it was such a _man_ thing. You only drank liquor to get drunk and had been surprised with the drink by Rossi, who had insisted that you needed to drink something stronger than a glass of wine after the day you'd had. You take another hesitant sip from your glass, trying hard not to give away how little you like it. He could've ordered you a mixed drink - something sweet so you didn't taste just pure alcohol.

"What've you got going on this weekend?" you ask Hotch. The case had been miserable all around and you wanted to talk about anything but that.

He looks up at you, the faint hint of a smile on his face. "Haley and I worked it out so that I can have Jack the entire weekend. I'll have to think of something to keep him occupied."

You knew that Hotch would be content to do nothing as long as it was with Jack, but he liked to make the most of their time together and did his best to plan things out that Jack would like. "I saw a poster that said the Air and Space Museum has some special exhibit on this month. It looked interesting." You knew Jack would enjoy that - his latest toy was a rocketship that went everywhere with him.

"Saturday?" he asks, eyebrow quirked up in question.

"Make it 11, and you've got a deal," you tell him, with a small smile. "I am no longer entertaining plans at 9am."

He lets out a slight huff. "If you just went to bed at a normal hour it wouldn't be that hard to wake up in the morning."

This was an old argument with the two of you. Hotch insisted on always being the first in line to any ticketed event. He hated waiting - he'd start to fidget and get annoyed and keep leaving the line to walk to the front and see what was taking so long.

"Take it or leave it." You were sticking your ground. He could use the lie in too, he'd just never admit it.

"We'll pick you up," he says, bringing his glass to his mouth and taking another sip, eyes meeting yours from above the rim.

It was interesting how you and Hotch had settled into this routine of constantly doing things with Jack. You reckon he likes having another adult around when he's out with Jack - it definitely made things easier to keep a little kid entertained. You'd once mentioned to Emily that you were having dinner with him and Jack and she'd looked at you a little oddly, saying that she'd been on the team forever and had never once had dinner with her boss and his kid. You'd responded by telling her that she probably wouldn't enjoy it all too much - Emily liked kids just fine, but her and Hotch tend to get on one another's nerves a bit after a while. They were far too different even if they did work well together. Hotch would try and fail at limiting her to two glasses of wine with dinner and she'd annoy him by just putting the dishes straight into the dishwasher without caring how she did it.

"Someone sent this over for you." You turn to see the waitress place a drink at your table, and indicate towards a man in a wrinkled suit, seated at the bar, who waves at you.

You can feel your face turn into a grimace as the waitress looks at you expectantly. You avoid looking at Hotch across the way. You didn't need to see his reaction. "Would you mind telling him thanks, but, no thanks for me?" you ask her apologetically.

She nods understandingly, taking the drink back and walking towards the bar.

You turn to look at Hotch, completely exasperated. It was _nice_. It was a nice gesture - sending a girl a drink. _Friendly_. Yet, you're just a little at your wit's end lately when it comes to men. It all just feels superficial.

Hotch can read you pretty well by now, so he asks if you're alright.

You look at his concerned face. You know why - usually you don't mind this sort of thing. Hell, you pretty much encourage it with the way you act, flirting with nearly everyone simply because you can. It's like a sport to you.

"Are you asking as my boss or as my friend?" you ask him, eyes cast down towards your drink, following patterns in the wood of the table.

"Friend," he says, adjusting to lean in a bit more towards you.

Sighing, you shift a bit, dropping your leg from where you'd been keeping it elevated next to him. "Lately, I just feel like I can't get guys to see me. Like every guy I meet, they either want to date me or kill me," you tell him, referring to your job. "But beyond that, it's like I don't even matter."

Hotch nods understandingly at your frustration, his face a grimace at your explanation. He's unable to deny that that is very much the case when it comes to women quite often - especially in your line of work. You're all far too aware of the horrors of dating, being called in on numerous cases on dating gone wrong. "Aren't you still seeing that guy - Kensington?" he asks with a slight uptick of his jaw.

"Well, if you can call seeing someone six times over the course of about an equal number of months, then yes I suppose so," you scoff lightly. "Twice we got called in on cases halfway, once he got interrupted by a work emergency, and then most recently I accompanied him to an event at which most of the other dates were the kind that demand a retainer in exchange for services rendered," you say, alluding to the super model types you'd kept company at Cedric's business event a couple of weeks back. You could fit into his world quite easily, but you didn't want to. You'd left that behind for a reason.

Hotch chuckles slightly at that, amused at your tone and manner in which you referred to women who were essentially either escorts or sugar babies. You didn't really fit that mold - of that he was quite certain. For one, you definitely didn't need the money.

"Don't get me wrong, I actually do like him. We get one another and our background and upbringing is similar enough. He makes me laugh. However our schedules - both of ours - are highly unconducive to dating and in his line of business he needs a girlfriend who can leave everything at the drop of a hat to stand by his side."

"So unless you leave your job or he leaves his, it won't work out," Hotch finishes your thought for you, a resigned expression on his face in commiseration.

"Exactly. Which is a shame because he's actually one of the good ones. He's rich but not pompous, educated and intelligent without being condescending about it, and actually shows genuine interest in me and my job. Believe it or not, as basic as those things might seem, they are actually difficult to find all in one man."

He hums. "I can imagine," he says, taking another sip of his drink, a slightly amused expression on his face. You rarely talked to him about your dating life so he was actually very interested in this insight. He wonders briefly if there's any significance to you having listed the fact that Kensington was wealthy before any of his other qualities. From what he knows of you, he doubts you'd truly care if your partner had money or not. More than likely it merely helped establish a commonality, nothing more. However, from what he does know of the men you've dated recently, they all appear to be quite well off nonetheless.

"Anyways, all that is to say that I'm not exactly looking to entertain complete strangers in bars at the moment. I don't trust my luck."

"Probably for the best, anyways," Hotch comments, appraising the crowd at the bar. There really didn't appear to be anyone worth talking to - especially none of your caliber, per his judgement.

"What about you? How's the post divorce dating scene?" you question, feeling a little bolder than you usually might, since the two of you are already discussing the matter. Turnabout was fair play.

He's a little surprised at your forwardness. You tend to do your best to not meddle in his personal business, despite the amount of time you two spend together. He believes it's your way of maintaining some modicum of professionalism to your outings. Your conversations tend to revolve around cases, your classes from college, an article in the newspaper, or the ever present game the two of you like to play of profiling complete strangers walking by. He says its to hone your skills, but really he just enjoys how invested you get - how competitive and passionate, color rising in your cheeks as you defend your assessment, annoyance tinging your tone as you disagree with him, admiration when he notes something you hadn't, and pride when he praises your observations, your cheeks flushed a prettier pink and your eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

"I wouldn't know," he discloses, a slight flush in his cheeks. He hadn't dated at all since the divorce. He hadn't had the time and he hadn't really had interest in anyone. Not when you exist, so overtly present in his day to day life. He knows he's - in some capacity - using the outings with you and Jack as the closest thing he's got to dating again. Not to say that it was that - _dating_. However the fact that his weekends were typically filled by you and his son made it so he wasn't exactly left wanting.

Your eyes widen a little in surprise. Their divorce had been a while back now - you knew for a fact that Haley was dating, having ran into her with some man when you'd offered to drop Jack off for Hotch when you all got called in on a case last minute. You hadn't mentioned it to him, but you're sure he knew as well. "You're joking. Really? No one?"

"You might recall, I got divorced because I didn't have the time for my existing relationship. A new one requires quite a bit more attention than that," he says dryly, self deprecation dripping from every word.

You hum, narrowing your eyes at him as you stir your drink with the toothpick it came with, spearing the cherry inside and popping it into your mouth.

"You should just go for it next time we're in some whatever town. Every female detective we've encountered constantly gets all moony eyed around you," you inform him matter-of-factly. They're all so obvious too, eyes always drawn to his ring finger in search of a wedding band, and upon finding it empty, hanging onto his every word. Flicking their hair and fluttering their lashes at him, keen on proving themselves to be competent by sticking their noses into the profile.

"That's hardly true," he contradicts, shaking his head, the color in his cheeks having creeped down his neck.

You chuckle at that. "Maybe you're not as good of a profiler as you think you are."

He glares at you, however the lightheartedness remains in his eyes so you know you're in the clear for your jab.

"Anyways, all I'm saying is, whenever you decide to get back on that proverbial horse, I think you won't find a shortage of options," you tell him kindly. After all, Hotch worked harder than any of you. He deserved to find happiness again.

He rolls his eyes at your statement ever so slightly. His right hand was a much less complicated and demanding lover for the time being - he was making do just fine.

"So, on to the next for you then?" he asks, attempting to divert attention back to you and your existent dating life rather than him and his non-existent one.

You shake your head, a humorless smile appearing on your face as you start to feel just slightly light headed from the alcohol. Maybe accepting random pain killers from Emily hadn't been quite the right move. "Nah," you mumble into your drink. "Cedric can stay, if only because I don't have an actual good reason to end it yet. Besides him, the other two on the back burner are quickly losing what little appeal they held to begin with. I might actually take a break."

Hotch smiles as if he doesn't quite believe you're capable of actually taking a break. Your reputation for never being without a date far preceded you.

Truth be told, at first it was simply easier to always be dating someone in the aftermath of the John wreckage. If you could constantly keep yourself occupied and distracted in that area, while you actually gave turning straight a fair shot, then maybe you'd make it through instead of going crawling back to his bed. Maybe you'd stop seeing his broken face when you told him you couldn't be with him. Maybe the memory of leaving him standing alone in front of that tattoo parlor in the Village wouldn't cause your heart to ache and rebel against your own actions. Maybe. Just maybe.

Now, the pain of Julian's death and the subsequent fallout with your family was merely hurtful when you chose to think of it or were reminded of it inadvertently It was no longer ever present. That seemed like progress. Like somehow despite everything - the pain and torture you'd inflicted upon both you and John had somehow been worth it if it meant you could go to sleep without thinking of Julian. Wake up without your father's face looming ever present in your mind.

You and Hotch look up when you see the rest of the team approaching the table one by one as the night drew to a close. It was last call and about time to head home so you could all have a hope of making an appearance at the office the next day.

"You want a ride home?" Hotch asks you, noticing your slight struggle to get out of the booth.

"It's totally out of your way," you protest, yanking your coat on and fishing for your keys in your pocket.

"I insist, come on. You can't drive properly with that sprain right now. He walks towards you and placing his hand at your lower back, guides you out of the bar behind the rest of the team. "Your car should be fine and we can grab it in the morning."

You know he's right, so you allow yourself to lean against him ever so much more, letting him help you out to his car. Hotch helps you in and closes the door behind you, before walking around to the driver's side. You take control of the music, plugging in your phone, intent on introducing him to more modern music. The two of you made it through seven Top 50 songs on the drive to your place, Hotch complaining throughout and not finding anything redeemable in any of the songs you'd chosen.

Aaron looked over at you as he neared your house, your head moving along to the music and your fingers dancing across your thighs to the tune, a large grin plastered on your voice as you tried to convince him that _this_ this one he surely had to enjoy. He actually didn't mind most of the music you picked out to introduce him to - you didn't just pick anything, you always did your best to pick something you thought he'd truly enjoy. However, he worried that if he started to openly like any of them, you might stop trying so hard.

He pulled into your driveway and walked around to help you out of the car, lending you a hand along the path and up the steps to your door. He stands on the lower step as you unlock the door, before you turn around to tell him goodbye. When you turn, you're almost at his height due to the different steps you two are stood upon and you're not quite sure what compels you, but you reach for him and lean in to a hug, tucking your head onto his shoulder. If he's surprised he doesn't react as such, wrapping his arms around you as well briefly.

"Thanks Hotch."

"I'll pick you up at 8:30AM tomorrow. Is that alright?"

"Sounds good. I'll be the one standing right here, holding the cups of coffee."

He smiles, rolling his eyes just slightly, before turning around and walking away.

*------------*

He first becomes aware of only pain. A piercing, stabbing pain that he can feel everywhere, centered around the abdominal area. He can't move, everything feels heavy. Opening his eyes is a struggle and he manages to only open his eyes a fraction, before being forced to close them tight again. It was bright. White and too bright for his sensitive eyes.

He's slowly starting to realize where he is - becoming increasingly aware of the pain and the bandages, the needle connecting an I.V. to his arm - he's in a hospital. He tries to remember what happened - he'd dropped you off, waited until you made it inside and waved him off, before leaving. He'd gotten back to his apartment. It had been quiet. Eerily quiet. Then Foyet was there. After that all he recalls is pain and Foyet's voice - over and over and over.

_Do I seem impotent now?_

_You should've made the deal._

_This will never be over._

Aaron finds it too difficult to keep his eyes open and closes them once again, slipping under.

The next time he wakes, a technician was present and the girl quickly hurried out when she noticed him move.

Once the nurses became aware that he was conscious, it had been a flurry of activity - doctors and technicians in and out to ensure he was alright and to up the pain medication. Some talk about internal bleeding and nine stab wounds to which he'd simply nodded along. He tried to ask for Dave - someone who could make sense of all of this. They told him no visitors yet, but that family had been informed.

Once Dave enters, that's when he finds out everything. Foyet had dumped him outside the hospital. After he hadn't shown up to pick you up that morning, you'd raised the alarm and Garcia had tracked him down. Nothing was missing from his apartment from what they could tell, despite the mess. The only thing left out was his address book. Dave had it with him and Aaron looks through it, going immediately to the one page that mattered. It wasn't there.

_Haley Brooks._

Rossi had sent you to go get Haley since the Marshalls were getting ready for her. You'd left Jack with JJ, assuring him that you'd be right back. He'd already seen his father and you'd watched from a distance as Hotch had adjusted to sit up, insistent on not letting his son see him as anything but alright, even in the context of a hospital bed. Haley had been with them and you watched as her eyes flitted from Hotch to Jack - fear for her son and what he might have to go through, due to his father's job, her main concern. She was worried for Hotch too, of course. She must be. However, their initial interaction that you'd witnessed hadn't been quite how you'd expect a wife to react to her husband being in a hospital. Though, you suppose, she wasn't really his wife anymore. Not that it mattered to him - you're pretty sure in his eyes, she might as well still be.

You approach, and you can hear Hotch and Haley in conversation about what's going to happen next. Foyet had taken only the page in his address book with her name on it, so his intentions were perfectly clear. Haley and Jack were being targeted by a serial killer. That meant they needed to be protected, and you knew that Hotch would have to break it to her.

"Do you know where they're taking us?" Haley asks. You can hear the uncertainty in her voice. You wait outside, trying not to eavesdrop but it was impossible not to overhear.

"No I don't. And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."

"Jack has school, Aaron. He has friends. I have a job now." Her voice is accusing and you want to tell her that none of that matters right now. The only thing that matters is the two of them being safe.

"I know. And I'm sorry. We will catch him. And you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you." Hotch's voice comes out low and you can hear the anguish caught in his throat as he speaks to the mother of his child - telling her to take their son and go. Breaking his own heart in the process by keeping Jack away from him. Knowing that that is exactly what Foyet wants. Wants him to suffer.

"Are you sure that we're in danger?" she asks, her voice suggesting that maybe he was overreacting. You feel a surge of anger course through you at that. For her to even suggest that he was overreacting when he was laid up in a hospital bed with multiple stab wounds was simply…you didn't have the words. He wouldn't make her go through this over nothing!

"Yes."

You decide to intervene then. Before she can question it further and agitate him more. He needed to rest. You knock quickly, alerting them both to your presence. "Haley, the Marshalls are ready for you."

She nods and grabs Hotch's hand. You avert your eyes to give them their privacy as Hotch tells her to be brave and strong. He'll see her and Jack after she's met with them.

Haley walks towards you and you point her to the tall female agent standing at the end of the ICU doors, wearing non-descript clothing in order to not garner too much attention. She nods and looks at you, and you see a hint of _something_ pass through her eyes, like she wants to speak, but then seems to think better of it and walks towards the direction you'd pointed her in. 

You watch her go, before turning to Hotch. His eyes followed her until she disappeared around the corner, and then he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. You hesitate for a second, before walking in. Your presence wouldn't be missed for a few minutes, you hope, so you walk towards the bed and take a seat in the chair to his left, waiting until he decides to look at you.

"How're you feeling?" His face is turned towards you as though he's partially surprised you're even there at all. You wonder if he would've preferred you have left him alone instead.

"They're got me some pretty strong meds," he tells you, indicating towards the I.V. drip connected to his arm.

You lean over and read the chart hanging from the side of the bed, eyes glancing over it. "They got you on all of the good stuff - Hydromorphone will get the job done for sure." You try to smile but you know it won't reach your eyes right now.

"How long did it take you to sound the alarm?"

You shift, tilting the chair to look at him better, your teeth worrying your bottom lip and eyes narrowed, trying to work out why he'd ask that. The smell of a hospital was starting to get to you a bit - that odd smell that feels like despair and cleaning supplies. "Ten minutes. At 8:35, I called your cell and you didn't pick up. I called again at 8:36 and 8:37 and 8:38. At 8:39 I told myself I was acting crazy and that the weird feeling I had wasn't anything really. I just needed some breakfast. At 8:40, I called Penelope and had her track you down." You remembered the ten minutes of pure panic you'd gone through when he hadn't been outside at exactly 8:30AM. With anyone else, it wouldn't be a cause for concern. With Hotch, you'd expected him to be there at 8:25AM and so you'd been ready to go by 8:15AM with a travel mug of coffee for the both of you in each hand. He also always texted you when he left his place to come to yours and you hadn't gotten an ETA text that morning. Maybe that's what had originally put you on edge.

He looks at you, an odd look on his face at your explanation as if he's trying to decide what to make of it - the entirely detailed and rambling explanation he got from you, likely catching him off guard a bit. _Great, he thinks I'm insane._

A small smile makes its way to his face however, and you're glad he's still capable of that, despite everything. You haven't yet looked down at his bandages. Foyet had stabbed him _nine_ times. You'd seen the notes that Rossi had taken - what Foyet had said to Hotch as he stabbed him. Talking about how Hotch has profiled him as being impotent. The mere act of stabbing Hotch while taunting him with that particular piece of the profile -it filled your stomach with churning acid. It was the closest to sexual assault that Foyet could inflict upon Hotch and you're trying hard not to think about the emotional and mental ramifications of it all for him. The physical was one thing - that's something that people can move past with time. The violation of one's home and one's body however - the toll that takes on ones being and sense of self - that's much more difficult to bury.

Just to even think that he was exaggerating - you're mad all over again at Haley. You shouldn't be. You know that isn't fair at all. She was having her whole life upended. And yet…he was the one in a hospital bed and you're having a hard time recalling her seeming at all concerned for him. She must've been, _of course_. But…he didn't deserve to be made to feel like shit because of it. It wasn't his fault. Knowing him, he really would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

You avert your eyes to stare at the wheels at the bottom of the bed. They'd wheeled him, unconscious, past you when you'd first arrived at the hospital, not bothering to go into the office and instead arriving straight from your place via a cab. You'd been the first one there, having Garcia call the rest of the team. You'd called Rossi so that he could be the one to call Haley. He'd known her longer. You'd limped your way into the ICU, bypassing every single security check with a flash of your badge.

Pointless really. They wouldn't let you see him. _Family first._ You had to wait for Haley and Rossi to arrive - they were his emergency contacts. You briefly wondered if that was because he'd never bothered to update it after the divorce or if that was truly still the case - if she would be the person he'd want to have during an emergency.

"Can I say something?" Your voice comes out small and hesitant. He hadn't said anything in the wake of your explanation earlier.

He nods, looking at you curiously.

You wet your lips, clearing your throat a bit and sitting up straighter. It's not your place, and yet.. someone should say it. Someone should tell him.

"Sometimes, when we love people, we allow them to hurt us. We allow them to ignore our pain in favor of elevating their own. We allow them to bypass our feelings and our needs because we believe we aren't as worthy of having what we need acknowledged. I get why, of course. Especially right now, but.." You trail off, not knowing how to finish what you'd started in a way that didn't complete overstep the boundaries that you'd already crossed. He'd know you had heard. He didn't need to know that right now, you didn't exactly love his ex wife. You liked her just fine. But right then, you didn't appreciate how she'd treated him.

Hotch looks at you, breath caught by your words. He hadn't realized you'd overheard the conversation between him and Haley. There could be no other reason for you to be saying all of that. You'd said it all softly, hesitantly, knowing you were crossing some sort of line and yet you'd still said it because you felt he needed to hear it. _We love.. We allow… We believe…_ You were speaking from some amount of personal experience. Your first question to him had been about how he was doing - unlike both Rossi and Prentiss who had asked him what happened. He's not sure why the distinction matters, yet it does.

Haley was right too, however. He can't be upset with her. This was all his fault. He hadn't made a deal with Foyet and now his family - _his son_ \- their lives were being upended. Haley had already put up with a lot during their marriage. The divorce should've meant that she no longer had to bear the consequences of his job. He can't help but feel guilty for that - for putting her in this situation. Especially when he's so overtly aware that he could've kept it from happening.

He watches as you sit in that chair, eyeing him apprehensively, chewing on your bottom lip. You _care_. He can tell you care. You care so overwhelmingly that it's hard to deny it. Sometimes he wishes you didn't. It would make things a lot easier on him if he could think that he felt something for someone that didn't even think about him - that he never crossed your mind even. However, there's far too much proof to the contrary. So instead he has to live with knowing that you care about him, that you think of him, that you likely - in some capacity - _love_ him. The way one might love a friend or a mentor. Somehow that's worse because he has to then deal with you saying stuff like this. Things that make it seem like _only_ you care.

He doesn't know what to say and he can feel tears forming that he's quick to blink away, hoping you hadn't noticed. He swallows and just nods, not trusting himself to say much of anything that didn't involve asking you to stay - possibly forever, because for the first time since he'd woken up in the hospital, he feels _seen_.

You try to smile and change the subject, fill him in on the Marshalls' plan with Haley and Jack. Offer to get him ice chips or some food that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. He notices how at ease you seem in the hospital, and comes to the conclusion that maybe a family member had spent some time in one. You seem to know which nurses to talk to in order to get whatever you needed. You watch like a hawk when they come to do anything with his medications. He's pretty certain you would've slept there overnight had Rossi not asked you to help Morgan with something on the ongoing case.

He misses you as soon as you leave.

*------------*

You catch Jack and Haley on your way out. You know you won't be seeing Jack for a while. The Marshalls would be taking them today. Everything was going to change for them.

You nod at Agent Montgomery - the U.S. Marshall that's going to be on their case for the time being. She shifts, moving to the doorway to give you guys a moment.

Haley is seated at the table, her hands holding onto some paperwork. She meets your eyes briefly and nods before returning to the documents. There's a pen in her hands and you can't help but note that her fingers shake around it a bit.

Jack is seated at another table nearby, Agent Montgomery having cleared the breakroom for their meeting.

"Hey buddy." You kneel down to where Jack has been sitting, coloring a printout that one of the nurses must've provided. Jack turns to you, showing off his work. "That looks amazing, Jack!"

He beams with pride at your praise. "Thanks, Y/N."

"I have to head out, okay. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left."

Jack gets up and hugs you, wrapping his little pudgy arms tightly around your neck, allowing you to sweep him up entirely. You know this is the last time you'll get to hold him for quite a while, so you allow it to linger, hugging him back tight. "I love you, Jack." Whispered into his ear while you blink back tears.

You release him and stand, making sure he's settled back into his activity and occupied, before turning to Haley. She stands, walks with you a small distance away from Jack. It isn't fair, what's happening to her. You don't really hold anything against her. It's awful, entirely awful what's happening - her whole life was about to be uprooted because of your jobs. Because of all of your collective failure to catch Foyet the first time. It was your mistake and her and Jack were going to pay for it.

You look up at her and you can see how entirely scared she is of what's about to happen. To have to do this on your own was one thing. Doing it with a partner, another. To have to do it all alone while supporting a child - she wouldn't have anyone she knew to rely upon. All by herself and unable to trust anyone.

"We're going to find him. We're gonna catch him. I promise." You know words were of little solace but that's all you have to give right then.

She smiles, a watery smile to match the unshed tears in her eyes. There's a shaky nod before she moves forward, hugging you in much the same manner Jack had. She's a bit taller than you, so you try to stand straight, allowing her to lean against you. "Take care of him." Her voice is a whisper against your ear, as though she's entrusting you with something extremely precious. Which she is, you suppose. She's counting on you to make sure that Hotch would be alright. That Jack's father would be fine, awaiting his son's return.

"I will."

*------------*

It had been a week since Foyet had left Hotch outside the hospital. A week since Haley and Jack had been taken into WITSEC protective custody and given new identities in an unknown location. A week since Morgan had become the new acting Unit Chief of the BAU, taking over in Hotch's stead. To the public - to the outside world - and especially to Foyet, it had to seem like his attack on Hotch had left him completely alone and broken - no wife, no kid, no team to lead.

You hated it.

The team had been assigned a new case late Sunday evening after you'd all pretty much spent the past couple of days in the hospital. Hotch was discharged earlier in the day and was under strict orders to stay on bedrest for the time being. You'd all flown out early Monday morning and it was now Saturday evening, the case having stretched out the entire week due to the Unsub's kill schedule.

You got back home after submitting your report, grabbing a water and a pack of the little bunny crackers you keep on hand for Jack. You're pretty sure you won't be seeing Jack before those expire and someone should eat them. You shower and get dressed for bed, thinking about Hotch. You knew he was home and would be coming back to work next week, doing the absolute bare minimum bed rest that the doctor had mandated. You're fairly certain the doctor had been intimidated into it by Hotch's severe face, daring him to say anything longer than a week.

It's fairly late by the time you actually crawl into bed, plugging your phone into the charger by the nightstand and flickering off the lights, plunging the room into darkness save for the red glow of the alarm clock stating that it was now eleven o'clock. You wonder if anyone has checked in on him while the team has been away. Perhaps Jess, but she must also be out of her mind with worry about Haley and Jack.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you've grabbed your phone and scrolled to his name in your Favorites, pressing on it. You hold the phone up to your ear and listen as it rings, once, twice, thrice, until you hear the sound of it being picked up.

"Hotchner." His voice is low but doesn't sound sleepy, so you're at least confident that you hadn't woken him up. Having nothing to do but lay around must be messing with his carefully regulated sleep schedule.

You suppress a laugh at his formal no-nonsense greeting, even though he undoubtedly knows it's you. "Hey." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

"Is everything alright?" There's a slight edge evident in his voice and you realize that maybe calling him at eleven at night when his wife - _ex-wife_ \- and kid are being kept away safe wasn't exactly the right move.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's alright. I'm sorry. I just called to check in. How are you?"

There's a pause where you can hear the ambient sounds of your house settling in along with him shifting - the rustling of a bedsheet and the groan of the frame as he moves to adjust himself. So he had been in bed when you called.

Finally, you hear, "I'm alright. Thank you for dropping off the food."

"Yeah, yeah of course," you respond, your heartbeat picking up a bit for some reason. You figure it's because you're unsure of the call itself still and knowing that Hotch was in bed and you'd likely disturbed him in some sense at least, makes you feel a little uneasy.

For his part, Aaron had been going stircrazy, sitting at home with nothing whatsoever to do. The Marshalls had taken Haley and Jack the very same day. Dave had taken him from the hospital and back to his apartment and Garcia and JJ had dropped by the same day with some groceries and a couple of ready to eat meals for him.

He spent most of Sunday sleeping, the strong painkillers making him drowsy. Monday morning, he awoke to his doorbell and his nurse, Eric, from the hospital was there to help him with the dressage. He didn't think that was covered by his insurance - he could only imagine how much home visits from a medical professional cost - and had told Eric there was some sort of mistake. However, Eric had insisted that someone at the hospital had already worked it out and insurance wasn't an issue - this was a covered service apparently. Since Aaron already knew him, and he really could use the help, he'd let him in. Eric had entered holding a large box of food as well, that he said had been left at the door along with a note. After Eric left, Aaron had opened the box to reveal pre-portioned meals - all homemade, all different, all things he could throw in a microwave easily. The note was just signed with your name, telling him to call if he needed anything else.

He'd slept through most of the days, awakening only to let Eric in daily. He ate only because he had to in order to take his medications. Otherwise his mind was a haze of thoughts and worries - worrying about Jack and Haley, about Foyet being around the next corner, about the team managing without him, and somewhere at the farthest reaches of his mind your face danced around - worried and concerned for him, despite doing your very best to appear otherwise.

When your name flashed across his phone late at night, at first he felt the thrust of panic - that something had happened. And then there's your voice, calm and even, asking him how he's doing. No one else had called him. Dave and Prentiss had texted once or twice over the week, but with a case going on, everyone had been busy.

There's a brush of silence after he thanks you for the food and he can hear you take a breath and shift ever so much. He realizes that you're calling him while most likely lying in bed. It causes his heart to speed up and a tight coil to begin tightening in his stomach. It's utterly benign - he has no reason to feel that way, and yet, yet he does.

"How was the case?" he asks, desperate for someone to speak with, not wanting the phone call to end.

You're slightly surprised but you easily talk him through the details of the case, the profiling process and how the team had approached it. You find yourself babbling on for a while as he asks you questions about the evidence, how the local detectives had been, how the team was doing.

Aaron listens to you, taking it all in. You're good at this, providing all the details you know he'd want. You notice everything, all the little things. How the local detectives had responded to Morgan being in charge - how it had been easier for JJ to liaise with them more closely instead. How Reid was getting much more comfortable with having a weapon in the field. There's a soft, sleepy quality to you despite your obvious willingness to tell him everything. Your voice like a salve, doing more for him than any of the medications the doctors had prescribed.

He's not sure when or how, but the conversation has meandered from the case to something Prentiss had told you once, to a story he had of Dave and Gideon back when he first joined the team, and then to a professor of yours from college who had been particularly invested in the Bundy trials in a near obsessive manner. He finds himself laughing for the first time since that night at the bar with you.

When his eyes next catch the time, it is past 2AM. You'd been on the phone for the past three hours. Before this, the longest phone call he's ever had was fifteen minutes.

"It's late," he whispers, almost as though he doesn't want you hear him. "You should get some sleep."

You glance at your clock and find yourself shocked at how long the two of you had been on the phone together. Who knew Hotch was even capable. Though, you figure, you'd been doing the bulk of the talking, rambling on about something or the other. He must be utterly exhausted of listening to your voice.

"You should too," you murmur through a yawn, your eyes flickering under the weight of your lashes.

"Good night, Y/N." You can hear a smile in his voice and it's almost as though you can feel him - the way he feels when he hugs you, warm and strong, firm against you, surrounding you completely with his being.

"Night Hotch."

*------------*

Hotch had been back a couple of weeks and the team was adjusting. While Morgan was indeed the public face of the team, Hotch was very still involved and working far too much behind the scenes. You've kept an eye on him, looking for signs of him overexerting himself. He is, of course. He's burying himself in work, diving in head first because that's likely easier than focusing on everything else. So far, all you've done is give him looks that say _Shouldn't you be going home?_ and _Is this really what you want to spend a Wednesday at 9PM doing?_ He doesn't acknowledge them openly but you know that he knows that you see exactly what he's trying to do. He'll leave once he realizes that you're staying if he is. 

You're not quite sure how to check on him during the weekends. Before, you used to have Jack as the reason why you saw him. Now, without Jack, you're not quite sure how to go about seeing Hotch and making sure he's alright, without it somehow being seen as overstepping. You nudge Rossi to go check on him one of the days and then another, you invited the entire team over for dinner so that you know he ate. You know he won't let you cook for him if he's no longer on bedrest, even though the way he holds his gun and the sharp inhale he takes anytime he has to put the Kevlar on is extremely telling.

JJ wants everyone in the conference room on the other side of the floor since your regular one is taken and she calls you to inform everyone of the change in venue for the scheduled meeting. You glance up from your desk after having told Derek and Emily of the location change, trusting them to tell Spencer when he returns. JJ isn't expecting everyone for another half hour, and Emily had caught Rossi as he was heading out to lunch, so he's also aware. Emily and Derek follow in his steps, asking if you're going to join them, but you wave them on ahead.

You take the steps up to Hotch's office swiftly, knocking and turning the knob in one motion, only to find him standing behind his desk, no jacket or tie, shirt unbuttoned, a patch of red visible on his skin from one of the stab wounds inflicted by Foyet. He looks up at you and you can feel the surprise in his eyes. It was your fault, you should've waited. That was stupid. Your eyes can't seem to look away from the blood spotting the otherwise white wrappings that sit in a pile on the desk.

"I - I'm sorry," you stutter out, blinking and trying to make sense of the sight in front of you. You notice that his shirt was also equally marred, the blood having seeped through. You'd obviously interrupted him.

He draws a breath, and you can see him try to put on a mask of being unbothered by your sudden appearance. "Did you need something?"

'Um, JJ had to move the briefing to the other conference room," you inform him, still unable to look away. You're staring. You know are. It's dawning upon you how entirely you'd fucked up. Hotch was such a private person. He'd hate having someone see him in such a state of vulnerability.

He nods. "Thank you. Could you close the door, please?"

You don't move from your spot in the doorway.

"Y/N?"

You're not sure what exactly has overcome you, except this overwhelming need to take care of him. Especially now, right then when he's hurting. Bleeding quite literally. Hotch takes care of everyone. Every single one of you. But no one takes care of him. Not the way he needs to be cared for.

You cross the threshold, shutting and locking the door behind you. He seems entirely taken aback as you approach him silently. There's a voice in your head telling you that this, right here, this was the definition of overstepping. Yet, there is a more insistent compulsion residing within you, urging you forward until you've reached him. He looks at you, confusion in his features.

"Let me." You reach for the alcohol wipes on the table, meant to disinfect the affected region.

He doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't move, making it difficult for you to actually reach him as he's standing flush to his desk. He only looks at you, brows scrunched together, the pronounced cleft of his lower lip set tightly.

"Let me." You repeat yourself, moving forward and forcing him to back up a little and make room for you. You deftly move to sit on his desk, facing him, and beckon him towards you without looking up. If you looked up, you might lose your nerve.

You part your legs and much to your surprise, he actually moves forward, coming to settle between them. You can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him. You're suddenly very aware of the friction between his dress pants and the material of your own fitted ones.

You take the alcohol wipe and tear open the packaging, unraveling the cloth before cautiously moving towards him and dabbing at the area that seemed to have opened up slightly. He releases a sharp hiss and suddenly, his hand is at your waist, gripping tightly. You pause, looking up at his face. His eyes are shut, lips pressed tightly together. After a second, he nods, indicating at you to continue. He doesn't make a sound again as you clean up the area, though he does tighten his grip ever so slightly a couple more times.

You look at the items on his desk and pick up the jar of salve that he must put on prior to the dressings. Carefully, you unscrew the lid, looking up at him with a question in your eyes. He nods again, barely looking at you.

You try to do it quickly. Fingers picking up some of the salve and gingerly spreading it over the region, brushing past raised skin, puckered up as it heals. Slowly. Not fast enough for him.

Aaron watches as your head is bent, teeth biting down on your lower lip in concentration as you gently span the entirely of his chest and stomach. Soft, dainty fingers quickly working so as to put him out of his misery faster.

Of all people, he didn't want you to see him this way. So vulnerable, so exposed, so scarred. You'd thrown him off balance when you hadn't quickly scampered away after you realized your error in barging in. Approached him with such purpose that he hadn't known how to turn you away.

You reach for the fresh roll of gauze next, swallowing as you look up at him once again. "This would be easier if you take the shirt off."

He shrugs it off at your words, placing it on the back of his chair. There's a fresh shirt on the seat of his chair. He'd been prepared, it would seem.

"This might put a dent in the line of women waiting to pounce." He indicates towards his chest, self deprecation dripping from his weak attempt at humor, in an effort to cut whatever imaginary tension he had made up in his head.

You look at his face, seeing the vulnerability and insecurity as plain as can be. He doesn't need to verbalize his thoughts in order for you to know exactly what he's thinking. What he's _been_ thinking.

_Who would want someone this grotesque?_

_Who would want a man as broken as this?_

_Who could possibly bear the sight of him - marred forever? His very flesh a perpetual reminder of the terror he wades through, the monsters he encounters, the horror that is his life._

"No."

Your answer is simple, straightforward. Yet nothing has ever confused him more as he watches you hold one end of the gauze to the front of his chest near the top of the scarring, and then bring the roll around his back, over it to hold it in place, your small hands ghosting over his skin with the utmost propriety, intent in making this as painless, as easy, as comfortable for him as possible.

"I'm not going to tell you some patronizing bullshit about scars being beautiful."

You control your breath in easy measured paces, forcing him to follow along. One breath in. Pause. Breath out. Repeat. You continue to wrap the dressing around his chest slowly, your eyes fixed on the task at hand to ensure that it was all straight and even, tight but not too tight.

"They do, however, speak to all that you've endured. All that you've conquered. Overcome. Anyone who loves you will see you just as you are. They would think you absolutely incredible. Regardless of anything. Because of it all."

Aaron focuses on your voice, soft and melodic and yet sure. So very sure. _How could you possibly be so sure?_

"Someone who loves you will see the scars," your fingers press ever so slightly against his chest, "and they will know. They will know all that you've undergone to become who are - how you survived despite the odds."

You take a sudden shuddered breath as you recall the sight of him unconscious in the hospital bed, being wheeled past you. You're quick to shake it away.

"They will be grateful. To have you, scars and all."

You finish, tucking in the end of the gauze firmly and ensuring it wouldn't come loose with just the slightest of motions.

You look up at him then, finally meeting his eyes properly. Beautiful, deep brown eyes with flecks of gold brought on by the late afternoon sunlight that was filtering through the windows.

Aaron can't help but look at you. He rarely gets to see you this up close. So very close. If he were to just bend down the smallest amount, there'd be no space at all. Your hair bundled back into a professional low bun, soft wisps framing your face. The cupid's bow lips - pouty, pink, perfect lips. The upturned nose and the slight babyface cheeks that accompanied it. He realizes his hand is still gripped onto your waist and he's reluctant to remove it. Not yet. In a bit. Not yet.

"Thank you." His eyes are closed as he says it so he misses it when you nod your acknowledgement.

You lean past him, one hand grabbing his forearm for balance while the other reaches for the shirt on the chair. You'd started the job. Might as well finish it. You unbutton the collar and he takes it from you, quickly slipping it on, and yet not moving away. His hand returns to your waist. Staying where you could easily reach up and start buttoning it for him. So you do.

Aaron knows you don't need a response to everything you'd said. He also is quite certain that you believe it. No matter the entirely shallow world you'd been a part of, he knows that you aren't like that. You might be a little vain - the nice clothes and makeup, the care you put into your own appearance. However, you're not vain like this.

Aaron breathes out a deep sigh that he'd been holding for some time as you dexterously work each button into its proper hole. He really could get used to this. To you.

"Why do you always sit on stuff?" His voice is soft and low, calmer.

You glance up, noting the slight humor dancing behind his eyes while he waits for your answer.

You can't help but smile, a breath of laughter escaping you just barely. "I suppose…because I'm short," you admit, shaking your head as you continue down the trail of buttons. "Makes it easier for me to be at eye level if I sit on higher surfaces."

He laughs. A near boisterous laugh. His chest rumbles underneath your hands, causing your fingers to tremble.

You can't help but laugh along with him, releasing a deep held breath as you do.

He would be alright. He would.


	47. Seven Devils

You'd just arrived at the airport when you got the call from Clyde informing you that there was a terror alert across the EU and flights were being grounded. He'd coordinate agents on the ground but there wasn't much you could do from the States, so you were off the hook until things got figured out.

_Great, now what?_

*------------*

Aaron walked towards the plane with the rest of the team, with Reid already spouting facts around unsubs who preferred to shoot their victims from a distance rather than up close. He climbs up the steps and turning, is greeted by you, seated in your usual chair.

"Hey, what're you doing here?" He walks up towards you, the rest of the team following close behind, equally surprised to see you.

"EU terror alert," you explain while he stashes his luggage away, nodding hello to everyone else. "Clyde said I'm free for the time being and I was already at the airport. Garcia read me in."

"Well, it'll be good to have you, kid." Rossi takes a seat in the aisle across from you guys. "Seems like an all hands on deck sort of situation."

Everyone settles in and you can't help but notice the small smile that seems to linger on Aaron ever since he saw you. The two of you had only had the past three days together and throughout that, you'd had a soccer match for Jack, a birthday party for one of his friends, and you'd spent Saturday night with the girls; needless to say, it had been tough to get time together for just the two of you.

"Was Jack okay?" you ask, turning to Aaron after everyone had finished talking through some of the case details and started to build a preliminary profile on the Unsub.

Aaron nods, but your question catches JJ's attention, who looks to you with her eyebrows raised, the puzzled expression on her face imploring you to explain. You're unable to help the smirk that plays at your lips as you do.

"We had a - um - _staff meeting_ this morning that Jack wasn't invited to. He wasn't too happy that the door was locked," you explain, biting your lip and barely stifling your giggles.

"A _staff_ meeting?" Emily raises her eyebrows at you and you can just imagine the dirty thoughts running through her mind along with the _Wow Y/N only soccer moms call getting railed a staff meeting_.

You meet Aaron's eye and you can see the soft blush to his cheeks that only you would notice. "I simultaneously regret and appreciate my choice of words there," you murmur to him as he shakes his head in amused disapproval.

Derek barks out a laugh in reaction to Emily. "Uh huh. Was it a successful meeting?" he asks, wagging his eyebrows at you, toeing the line at ribbing Aaron as well.

"I think both parties were pleased with the outcome. At least according to my notes." You turned to look at Aaron, mirth flitting into your gaze. "Would you concur?"

He has a small smirk on his face mirroring yours, no doubt thinking back to the fifteen minutes the two of you had caught together before you had to get ready to leave for the airport - once against the aforementioned locked bedroom door and a second in the shower, before you begged him to relent, otherwise you'd be late. He'd been intent on a third. "Some good points were made. However, we might have to do a follow up to ensure we're still aligned," he drawls, getting far too much enjoyment out of the effect his words and low voice would have on you.

You lose it at that, unable to keep a straight face. _Follow up indeed._

"Gross. I feel like I just watched my parents flirting." JJ groans, pushing up from her seat to go rummage around for snacks in the back. She was due anytime now and would be gone on maternity leave starting the following week. She was already mostly out of the field, staying in the precinct and managing the team from there. You knew, that as a result of that, Aaron was actually out in the field a lot more because he trusted JJ to handle the emotions and politics of local officials far better than anyone else.

"Morgan, could you check if we're stocked on the M4 ammunition?" Aaron switches gears towards preparing for the landing, a quick brush of his hand to your thigh in promise that there would indeed be a follow up to this morning's activities.

Derek nods and gets up, checking on the rifles stock that was brought along. With an Unsub like this, the team would need to be equally equipped to handle any situations that might arise, especially in a sprawling Texas city where guns were aplenty.

"Guys," Spencer pipes up, "I don't think I'm actually allowed to use those." He glances around at the rest of the team apprehensively, as Derek and Aaron share a calculated look at his admission.

"You're not," they both tell him almost simultaneously, drawing a snort from both you and Emily while Rossi merely smiles and shakes his head, turning his head back to his notes.

Reid looks offended and turns on you at that. " _Are you_ certified to shoot those?" His tone implied that he highly doubted you.

"I've been shooting since I was six years old," you inform him, a superior look on your face. "I actually set the Academy record for most weapons certifications earned by a trainee."

Aaron presses his lips together to keep from smiling while Emily shakes her head with a laugh at you goading Reid. "I didn't know six year olds were allowed to handle guns."

"If you're rich in Connecticut, you can do pretty much anything. Just look at the Kennedys."

"Touché."

Spencer grumbles to himself a bit more, slouching into his chair. It was his one weak point and he was getting better at it, really. On pretty much everything else, you're sure he'd have you beat.

You turn towards the research you'd been conducting on your own case with Clyde, in your downtime. Things were starting to fit together in an unexpected manner, and you'd had to bend a few rules to start putting all the different pieces in, but you were finally making some headway. It would definitely be faster and easier if you could enlist Garcia's help or bounce ideas off of Aaron, but your hands were unfortunately tied due to the high level of clearance you'd had to obtain to work this case in the first place.

Aaron watches as your head is bent in concentration, his own focus flickering away from the case ahead. You'd only been home for three days but you'd mentioned that your assignment at last had an end in sight. He's hopeful that that means things will be calming down - the two of you would be around one another more again. While Jack had so far done a good job of keeping the secret, he also gave his father a very telling, excited look anytime he saw you, and Aaron could often see Jack's eyes going to your hand where he hoped a ring would soon sit.

*------------*

All of the bodies thus far had been found at the grounds of various places of worship around the city - a few Churches, a Temple, and a Mosque. It would appear most of the actual killings had happened at a different location and the bodies were then moved and left to be found the next morning by unsuspecting worshippers, children, and groundskeepers. The Unsub was an equal opportunity killer - no discrimination in the religious leanings of his victims.

So far the victimology was all over the board - a college student, a local politician, a priest, a housewife, and a video game developer were the five victims so far. It read like the beginnings of a bad joke. A rabbi, a priest, and a horse walk into a bar…

The Unsub had left the bodies of each victim at their chosen place of worship. That, in itself, felt highly personal so there was a chance that the Unsub personally knew each of their victims. This was supported by the methodology - killing the victims from afar was easier on this particular Unsub's constitution.

The team had been spitballing; attempting to establish a connection between the victims. Reid and JJ were working on the geographic profile. Well, Spencer was at least. JJ kept having to leave to go to the restroom every five minutes. In that moment, you definitely did not envy pregnant women. Bearing children wrecked one's body.

The obvious religious themes were all in scope. The theory at the forefront was that each of the victims was being punished for a perceived sin, and Garcia was doing a deeper dive into their finances and online history while the rest of you got to know the families and the victims personally to wrangle out the truth. This was the most difficult part usually - even if someone was an awful person whilst alive, most people became reluctant to speak ill of the dead.

Trusting JJ to handle the centralized headquarters that the team had set up, Aaron left with you to do one set of the interviews. He wanted to speak to the parishioners of the church where the priest had been found, his body jutting out of the confessional booth. You both noted that it was on the opposite side from where the priests would typically sit, symbolically speaking to the fact that the Unsub considered the priest to be a sinner.

"I mean, he's a priest in a Catholic church," you said as the two of you walked up the pathway to the entrance. "The obvious definitely comes to mind."

Aaron agrees with a grimace. Father Patrick had led a youth group and had been doing so for the past decade. There was a high chance the Unsub could be a current or prior victim of sexual assault at his hands. He could also be someone whom a potential victim had confided in, so your suspect list was pretty wide open for the time being.

As suspected, every conversation you had - with church docents and members alike - was highly complimentary to Father Patrick. He was good with the children, kind to the female staff, had a fairly middle ground interpretation of the Bible; an all-around pillar of the community.

"Hopefully Morgan and Prentiss have better luck."

You nod, buckling in your seatbelt and commandeering the music, electing to actually play the White Album for once, drawing a smile from Aaron. He pulls out of the parking space and heads back towards the precinct. You smile to yourself as Aaron's deep voice croons along to Dear Prudence, his fingers tapping along to the beat against the steering wheel while you look out the window at the twilight Texas sky.

*------------*

"So, the girl, Rachel - total know-it-all, not unlike someone else we know…"

Reid glares at Emily as she trails off with a smirk. Her and Derek had gone to do another set of the interviews at the local university and had talked to classmates and professors to learn more about the first victim.

"We all have our suspicions about Father Patrick, but nothing conclusive there. The Councilwoman was taking bribes to block the legislation around the city's free internet policy per Garcia's research. That leaves Mrs. Abad and Ryan Cohen, the designer. We can't tell what their secret might've been, besides some high balances on a credit card for Mrs. Abad."

The team nods at Hotch, confirming his summary of the case so far.

"JJ and I have narrowed down the field to three epicenters across the city." You're surprised that Spencer gave JJ any credit at all for the work they'd done together. JJ had confided in you upon your return, that she'd told Spencer she was going to the bathroom and had instead taken a twenty minute power nap in a supply closet. Her maternity leave could not start soon enough, and you're glad that she's handling this pregnancy in a much more relaxed manner than the first, allowing herself the time off properly.

"Based on the current cadence, we could have another victim in the next couple of days." Rossi looks around the room grimly. You're all well aware that the window to catch the Unsub before another victim materializes is closing quickly. It also usually tends to speed up once the team arrives on the scene. Makes Unsubs nervous. Eager to finish the job faster.

"Would you say Councilwoman Crane was guilty of the sin of greed?" Derek's brow is furrowed, the beginnings of a concrete thought evident in his question.

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Pride for the first victim, Rachel."

You agree again, but this time the rest of them are also following along.

"Seven Deadly Sins," Spencer surmises from Derek's trail of crumbs.

"What are all of them?" Emily asks, looking between Derek and Spencer.

Derek shifts from one foot to the other. "Pride, Greed," he lists off, counting with his thumb and index finger.

"Lust, Envy," Aaron supplies, tacking on to the end of Derek's sentence and prompting him to continue the count.

"Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth," Spencer finishes, turning to write them all down in order on the whiteboard.

The team was finally making some headway.

You stand towards the back of the room looking at the victim board, arms crossed across your chest, leaning against the back wall. "So, let's assume its Lust for Father Patrick. The excessive shopping could be indicative of Envy from Mrs. Abad. You guys did say she lived in a posh neighborhood. Keeping Up With the Joneses lifestyle."

"That leaves Gluttony for Cohen. Kid _was_ pudgy." Rossi had been the one to visit the Medical Examiner, so you all trusted his assessment there.

"They're all in order. Could it be that simple?" Aaron questions, leaned forward in his chair, looking at the board with each of the victims' names listed next to one of the sins.

You contemplate his question as does everyone else. _Could it be that simple?_ An Unsub working down the list of deadly sins, picking out victims that aligned with each one. It would stand to reason, given the working profile - you'd all decided that the Unsub must have an Orthodox religious upbringing, in a militant household.

"Occam's Razor," you answer finally, meeting his eyes, a grim set to your face. This meant there were at least two more victims planned. "The simplest explanation is usually the right one."

*------------*

In the past couple of days, the team had narrowed down the scope of the case, having realized that the Unsub had met all of the victims through various volunteer activities. The working theory was that the Unsub had deemed the victims to all be hypocrites - claiming to be doing charitable works while sinning on the side.

Garcia had cross-referenced volunteer activities between the various places of worship and had come up with charities that all of them supported throughout the city. From there she'd catalogued registered volunteers across all of them, against activities each of the victims attended, however hadn't been able to narrow it down enough.

So, here you were manning the precinct late at night with Aaron, Derek, and Emily. The team was taking it in shifts to see if any missing persons calls came in, with victims fitting into either of the final two remaining sins - Wrath and Sloth. Unfortunately, there were simply far too many options for you to be able to determine who might become the unwitting victim in this Unsub's crusade.

It was calm and quiet, only the whirring of the fan and ambient sounds of the printer filling the silence. The four of you had already eaten and were all nursing hot cups of coffee in order to stay awake in the otherwise empty station. Public statements had been made and hotlines set up in case anyone could provide even a hint as to who the Unsub might be.

Emily was slouched over at the table, her arms cradling her head as another yawn escaped her. Bleary eyed, she looks at you and you weren't much better off, only barely keeping your eyes open, tilting back in your own chair in order to simulate the feeling of tipping over; effectively scaring yourself into staying awake. Derek was seated in front of the laptop, with Garcia on video. The two of them had been playing some game, however it appeared that she'd tired of it, being nearly two hours of a time difference ahead of the rest of you. So now, Derek was just watching her snooze, head bent down to her desk.

You look at Aaron, reading the notes Reid had left behind in order to try and make some sense of everything - uncover something that had slipped through the cracks. His brow is furrowed, head bent in concentration. He'd shed the jacket a while ago and despite the time of year, the Texan climate had forced him to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing delicious swathes of forearm for your perusal. His hands - so large compared to your own, the veins prominent as he flips a page, muscle tensing and flexing as he does. You have to bite your lip to suppress a moan. It was the sleep deprivation. It was getting to you. _Yeah, that's it. Not your big, strong boyfriend looking all serious and focused and handsome as he tries to hunt down a serial killer. Nope. Not at all…_

You stand up suddenly as your chair tips forward, all four legs finally hitting the ground with a soft crash, cushioned by the carpeted flooring. Loud enough, however, to get Aaron's attention, as he turns to look up at you, the _Are you alright?_ plain to read in his eyes.

"Need fresh air. Gonna go take a walk around the block or something," you explain, shaking your head of the cobwebs that had formed over the course of the past two hours, as the night had slipped into what could better be classified as early morning.

Aaron sets the papers down and turns to Morgan, indicating that he was going to join you. If you thought he was letting you go out alone, at this hour, with a killer on the loose, you were certifiable.

He watches as you slip on your blazer but he doesn't bother with his own. It would be quick and it wasn't too cold anymore. He follows you through the precinct and out the front doors, down the steps, matching your shorter pace easily - he's used to it by now.

"You sure you're alright?" he asks, once the two of you have reached the street. You merely hum tiredly and nod, so he grabs your hand in his, and walks in step with you, turning the corner past the precinct.

It is a little colder outside than it was inside, but his larger hand encompasses yours entirely, making you feel like a child swathed in his warm embrace. The cool air filters through your nostrils, reinvigorating your mind, giving it the jumpstart needed to function once more.

The two of you don't talk as you walk hand in hand down the sidewalk, him walking on the outside as he always does. Only the streetlamps are on, little pockets of light between stretches of darkness. Your mind is at peace. You aren't thinking about this case or your other one. You aren't thinking about any responsibilities and obligations. No worries. Just silent. It's so rare for your mind to be quiet that you relish in it. Allow yourself to bathe in the soundless symphony occupying the chasm in your brain.

As you approach the final turn that will lead you back to the entrance of the station, you find yourself watching Aaron again. He'd been so patient with the entire case with Interpol, despite it taking a toll on him. He'd been pulling double duty - doing all the things he does while also subbing in for everything you're unable to do at home. Him and Jack had sent you a cooking video of the two of them last time you'd been away, as Jack bossed Aaron around in the kitchen and helped him make your chocolate chip cookies for the bake sale at school. You'd sent Aaron detailed instructions, as he'd have to be the one to help Jack brown the butter and ensure he didn't burn himself. You knew he must have been frustrated with the extremely particular list of ingredients you'd sent him, down to the brand of salt flakes (the pièce de résistance of the entire experience) that got sprinkled on top. Yet, he'd tackled it all with aplomb, not complaining to you even once. Jack had confided in you afterwards that Aaron had had to go to three different stores because the salt flakes were a rare item and not every branch of the nicer grocery store carried them. He'd done it though, and Jack had told you they'd turned out exactly like yours. Even Emily had texted you to validate this, asking if you'd come back without telling her when Aaron had brought a batch in for the team the following day.

Aaron feels a tug on his hand right before the turn. You'd stopped and his hand was still holding yours, forcing him to stop as well. You're stood in the shadows, right between two patches of light, your face immersed in darkness, and before he can say anything, he's lightly pushed against the brick wall exterior of the police station building. He lands with a soft oomph. You lean up against him, pressing yourself along the length of him and going up on your toes - utilizing the entirety of your ballet training - your lips meeting his in a heated kiss. He groans into your mouth, hands wrapping around your hips on instinct alone, tongue tracing your bottom lip before gently nipping at it, taking advantage of your resulting gasp to make his way into your mouth, licking every part of you available to him. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around him and turns to hold you against the wall instead, pressing into the inviting warm juncture of your thighs.

"What brought this on?" he hums, moving from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

You shiver at his efforts, a flip in your stomach as you feel the edge of his teeth, followed by the soft bite at the bend of your neck. Unable to answer him, lost in the feeling of his lips and teeth against your skin, your hands mussing through his hair, softly pulling and drawing vibrated groans from him.

At the absence of an answer, he pauses, looking up until he has your full attention, meeting your darkened eyes contrasting against your bashful expression. Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours. "I love you," you muster with some concentration, soft and blissful, pulling his face back down to meet your sweetly puckered lips once more, drawing him into the cacophonous sea of feeling along with you.

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room that Derek and Emily were sat in, Emily has stood up, leaning flat against the back wall. Derek has moved as well, taking residence in your old chair, leaning backwards much the same way you had.

"What about you guys?" he asks as you and Aaron enter.

You avoid Emily's knowing look. "What about us?"

"This whole thing - case - heaven and hell. You believe in it?"

"I went the agnostic route," Emily adds, stretching and arching her back like a cat. "If it exists, great. If not, no skin off my back."

Derek looks at the two of you expectantly.

Aaron nods quickly, returning to his old seat, feeling a lot lighter than before. He'd grown up Catholic - heaven and hell were ever-present concepts in his home.

You shrug, grabbing your lukewarm cup of coffee and dropping onto the couch. Your family had been more religious for the sake of appearances and connections rather than any true faith-inspired feelings.

Derek chuckles lightly. "Okay, so if they do exist," he says, turning back to Emily who had sunk down to the floor, seated with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Where you think you're headed?"

"Let me guess, _you_ think you're going to heaven," Emily taunts, a mocking grin on her face.

"I do good, I am good," Derek replies assuredly. "Everything else is up to God. Right, Hotch?"

Aaron breathes out half a laugh along with a raise of his brows, which was about as much agreement Derek could hope for there.

"What about you Princess?"

You look at him, slight roll of your eyes to the ceiling. "Pretty sure patricide rules me out for a ticket to heaven," you respond, your words coated with sardonic dismissal.

_Heaven. Hell. What did it even matter when you're dead?_

It was a good thing that you hadn't looked at Aaron at that, because if you had, you would've noticed an entirely odd expression on his face at your words - he decides to pin his thoughts for a conversation at a later time. Once the case was wrapped up.

*------------*

"Anything you know could help us identify your husband's killer. Were you able to get a good look at him?"

JJ and Derek are running the interrogation on the latest victim's wife while the rest of the team watches from the other room. The body had been found at the edges of yet another church's grounds, marking it as the sixth victim. However, this time, a witness had emerged. The Unsub had taken Dylan Rogers from his front yard at gunpoint and Ashley Rogers, his wife, had seen it all happen from the living room before calling it in to the precinct.

"She seems tense - her shoulders have been hunched this entire time. Her facial expressions have varied from somber to haunted almost." Reid shifts closer as he profiles Mrs. Rogers, studying her body language.

"Morgan said it seemed like he might have hit her. He saw some bruising when she went to the house to pick her up," Prentiss adds, her voice grave.

Aaron acknowledges both Reid and Prentiss with a nod, his eyes fixed on the interaction taking place in the other room.

"Would fit into the umbrella of Wrath." Rossi mused from beside Aaron. All of you continue to watch while JJ brings in a sketch artist to help Mrs. Rogers construct a likeness of the Unsub.

"It must be killing her - if it's true. Having to help find his killer. Imagine the number of times she must've dreamt of hurting him in the same way he hurt her." All of you turn from Emily back to Mrs. Rogers, thinking on her statement.

"She could've left," Reid reasoned distractedly, his expression casually appraising Mrs. Rogers still for any signs that she might be concealing anything.

You find yourself bristling at that, and you've spoken out before you could stop yourself. "You know, it's _funny_ how whenever we see cases like this. Cases where a man continuously beat up his partner, that's the question on everyone's lips. _Why didn't she leave? Why did she stay?_ "

Reid turns to you, his mouth open and ready to contradict you or apologize, you're unsure, but you continue. "We never ask, _why didn't he stop?_ "

Emily snorts from beside you, her lips pressed tightly together as you both watch Mrs. Rogers working with the sketch artist. She turns to Spencer after a look at you. "Because we accept men as monsters. That is their natural state. Those of them that didn't give in to it - we exalt them. We call them _good_ men. _Better_ men. Because they didn't beat us and hurt us and watch us _bleed_."

There's a tense silence but this is a sentiment that none of them are unfamiliar with. Reid should've known better.

You see Spencer shift uncomfortably, obviously apologetic for his earlier statement. You shake your head slightly and offer him a small smile, reassuring him that he's alright. This kind of stuff, just hits closer to home for some of you.

Your eyes meet Aaron's and he's looking at you with the question in his eyes that you'd expected as soon as you'd opened your mouth. You shake your head at him too, before turning your gaze back to the front.

Aaron watches you for a beat more, his eyes trained to the side of your face, your unwavering eyes set upon Ashley Rogers and your words swimming in his mind. His eyes had asked the question that he already knew the answer to unfortunately. _Yet another reason for him to despise Matthew van Doren's entire existence._

"You know, there was a time I thought he was the love of my life." You all can hear Mrs. Rogers talking to JJ as the sketch artist wraps up. "We had that love - that wake up Sunday morning with pancakes and lose yourself in each other under white sheets kind of love. I don't know when it all went wrong."

*------------*

With the aid of Mrs. Rogers' description, Garcia was able to run a digitally enhanced version of the sketch against all known volunteers who had been at most of the events attended by each of the victims in the weeks prior to their deaths. After that, apprehending the Unsub was just a matter of tying together the identified man to each of the victims directly.

The team was able to prevent the final murder, and while that was of little solace to everyone, there was a tiny part of you that felt happy for Ashley Rogers in all of it. Sometimes the exit route we need arrives in the most unexpected of manners, and it is on us to recognize it and seize it for ourselves. You really hoped that Ashley would claim a new and better destiny for herself.

Since it was late, Aaron was unable to get the jet to fly back the same night, so the team was huddled into a corner of the hotel lounge with drinks in hand. While you're thrilled that you were able to prevent the final victim from being taken, this wasn't the best case the team had worked. You can see it in everyone's eyes, the way they hold their drinks, the hushed whispers contemplating if there was something that would've pointed to him sooner.

You feel bad that you aren't even really thinking about this case anymore. Your mind is preoccupied by the contents of the file you've left upstairs in the hotel room. You nod along to Emily and Derek's conversation, glass of wine held languidly in hand while you mentally collate the work you'd done so far. You know you're contributing nothing to the current conversation, and mercifully both of them have left you to your thoughts. Knowing there's not much chance of you being able to distract yourself tonight, you stand and bid good night to them before walking over to Aaron and Rossi, seated over a chessboard with Reid. They were playing two against one and Reid was still the favored choice to win.

"I'm going to head upstairs." You lean in and whisper softly to Aaron so as to not disrupt the game.

He turns his head to look up, brow furrowed ever so much. It wasn't like you to turn in early when there was a chance to socialize with the team. "I can come with." He grabs his drink as though to finish it, but you stop him with a hand to his shoulder.

"It's alright. Stay." You brush a kiss against his temple before nodding good night to the rest of them, intent on making some progress once you reached the room.

By the time Aaron gets upstairs, it is much later. Reid had won but Rossi had insisted on a rematch. Rossi just wanted to see Reid beat just once, however Aaron was wise to not bring attention to the fact that you've never played him. He knows that Reid has asked you, but you've made up excuses to not play. He'd always wondered about that, and having seen the chessboard in the New York apartment had made him realize that there was actually a good chance that you could beat Reid if you wanted to. Reid was a genius. That fact couldn't be denied. He knew everything about everything. You were different from that. Reid was driven by his pure drive for knowledge - that desire to understand the world around him better. You learned with more purpose, intention - with the need to add knowledge and skills to your toolkit, ready to whip out and be unleashed upon your opponents.

He enters the room just to see you exiting the bathroom, a robe wrapped around your body. He can't help but sigh internally at the sight. His soft, fluffy, perfect little personal teddy bear. He couldn't wait to just crawl into bed, already fearing that you'd be on another flight out the following day.

You acknowledge his presence with a smile, while toweling your hair dry.

"Who won?" There's a crooked smile on your face as you watch him take off his jacket and tie. As if you didn't already know who would win.

"Reid. Rossi wants another rematch on the plane." He shakes his head, walking further into the room. Closer to you.

You laugh softly as Aaron reaches you, looking exhausted from the long week and yet, he seems alright. All in all, this case hadn't been absolutely terrible. "Hasn't he learned his lesson by now?"

"He's a glutton for punishment." He steps forward, grabbing the towel from you and prompting you to turn around as he takes over drying your hair with soft tussles, allowing the cloth to absorb water all the way from root to end.

You hum at his actions, letting yourself to be lulled into the peaceful, floaty state that you always enter whenever he plays with your hair. It just felt too good.

"You should just give in and play him sometime." He knows he's pulling at that little thread there, curious as to how you'll react at him having deduced something you hadn't told him upfront.

You merely chuckle softly, seemingly unsurprised that he'd worked that out for himself. His profiling skills no longer surprise you much, especially when it comes to yourself. He could read you like none other. "We wouldn't want Spencer to cry, now would we?"

Aaron bites his lip, preventing a smile threatening to sneak out at that. It was nice knowing he'd been right about that. He'd have to make you play him at least. He needed to see how good you were for himself.

You turn around, halting his actions. You'd gotten a call from Clyde when you'd gotten upstairs and you were already set to fly out tomorrow on a red eye. You'd booked the ticket, making the necessary upgrades on your own dime.

"Tomorrow?" he guessed, noting the expression on your face when you looked up at him, drawing yourself up on your toes and wrapping your arms around his neck, the towel slipping from his hands and onto the floor between your feet.

You nod with a sigh, before coaxing him down, and he's quick to meet your lips with his own, knowing the two of now only have tonight. Tomorrow would be spent on the plane and then you'd have to fly out before he'd get even another hour alone with you. His hands instinctively find your waist, drawing you in flush against him. He deepens the kiss when one of your hands moves from his neck to cup his cheeks, thumb brushing over the peaking stubble around his jaw. You hate leaving like this. You can't wait for it to be over. For there to be no more goodbyes layering his touch and yours.

Aaron hugs you closer, wrapping his arms around you fully, the plush robe giving him far more to grab on to. Your lips against his, moving softly, insistently. You break away, struggling to be on your toes for much longer, so he moves, pushing you up onto the desk and coming to stand between your legs as your lips find their place once more against his, this time hands working at the buttons to his shirt as well.

"Wanted to talk to you about something." He breaks away, allowing you to pepper kisses down his jaw and the column of his neck. If the two of you only had today, he didn't want to risk forgetting and having the issue go stale before bringing it up again. He can feel your mouth, sucking, teeth lightly grazing the skin at his collarbone, undoubtedly leaving marks for him to admire afterwards when you were gone. At your hum, he continues relying on your ability to multitask. "Did you mean it, when you said you aren't going to heaven?"

You pause, looking up at him curiously and being reminded of the question Derek had asked. You hadn't realized it had affected Aaron, and yet thinking back on it, of course it had. Your answer had been entirely flippant. He was so serious when it came to things like this. "Yes. I did." Your voice is measured as you answer him, eyeing him carefully to watch his reaction. Even still, his hands have managed past the tie on your robe and his hands are caressing the bare skin of your sides, drawing a soft sigh from your mouth at the sensation. "By any definition of heaven and God and the Bible, murder isn't exactly condoned."

Had this been a few months ago, Aaron knew that this would have been an entirely different conversation. He could appreciate how entirely blunt you're able to be about how you've framed this for yourself. He might not agree with it, but he can appreciate the honesty. "Bible also says an eye for an eye." He raises an eyebrow at you, indicating that he wasn't about to let this go. Not when it came to the matter of your immortal soul. This mattered to him.

A gasp escapes you as his hands travel up your sides more deliberately, causing shivers against your sensitive skin at the feel of his roughly calloused fingers skimming, exploring, claiming. That's what his touch always felt like. A claim.

You try to focus as you think of a response, hands resuming unbuttoning his shirt and undoing the buckle to his belt. You can see he's already hard and as your fingers ghost over the bulge, he exhales sharply, eyes focused on your hands.

Realizing he wasn't getting an answer from you immediately, he helps you out by undoing the button and lowering the zipper on his pants, taking them off as you watch. You're a little confused by the conversation taking place, but you also knew this going into a relationship with Aaron. Like it or not, he was religious. Your family simply hadn't been much. It wasn't the same religious orthodoxy that Aaron had grown up with, at the very least. He wasn't by any means stringent about it, but some beliefs were innate. Good people go to heaven. Bad people go to hell. As far as he was concerned, you were a good person.

"Heaven and hell - I didn't grow up with that. But that whole eye for an eye thing, I don't think that really applies when it comes to taking a life." You help him slip the shirt off of his shoulders as you speak, the material slipping and falling to the ground as well. Aaron actually undoes the tie to your robe this time, pushing the material off of you almost roughly, eager to expose skin that he couldn't wait to taste. His hands move up to cup your breasts, kneading the flesh - the air in the room and his attentions causing your nipples to pucker, teasing him. He's unable to resist bending down and taking one into his mouth, gently sucking as his fingers tweak the other into submission as well, drawing a keening sound from deep within you, distracting you from your train of thought as you're drenched in the warmth of his touch.

You're entirely bare before him as his mouth moves to the other nipple, hands traveling down, grazing over your stomach and down your thighs, causing them to tremble. He pushes your legs apart, letting go of the nipple, his mouth returning to yours with a renewed fervor. His fingers pick up the evidence of your arousal around them, and he caresses your folds, before entering you with two fingers, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing over it as his fingers scissor inside you, locating the spot that has you arching your back, moans escaping you into his mouth.

Aaron releases your mouth so that he can watch you. Your hands scramble for purchase, bunching into the robe beneath you that soaks up your juices as he continues to work you up. Higher and higher. Your breath panting, breasts thrust up as you can feel the orgasm threatening to overtake your body. It only takes another circular motion of his thumb and the ask to _Let go_ by him, for you to go crashing under the waves, your walls pulsing around his fingers. He watches you fall apart, your arms going up to hug against your breasts as you arch and shake and moan for him, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as he continues his machinations against your sensitive bud, intent on drawing it out. He loves to just watch you like this. Begging him to keep going, your breathy voice urging him on, your gorgeous face, mouth falling open - all for him. His beautiful little princess, entirely at his mercy.

He kisses you again as you come down, your earlier conversation entirely wiped from your mind. But not his. Never his. Aaron could focus and keep track of things in amazing order. He hated that you thought you weren't destined for heaven. It shouldn't matter - such an abstract concept and who even knew, really. But in the off chance it did, he didn't want you to think you'd be excluded. You couldn't be.

Your jelly arms and legs wrap around him and he's already worked down his boxers, revealing his thick, hard cock, eager to be buried inside you. He gathers you up in his arms, pulling you to the edge of the desk, before lifting you up and moving the two of you to the bed, managing to drop you onto it sideways, before quickly climbing on top.

You move your hands to card through his hair, watching him, his lovely brown eyes looking down at you, causing a flurry of emotion in your stomach. He leans down and slots his lips against yours once more, allowing you to get lost in the feel of him. You release him with a gasp, finding it difficult to take in air, and he allows you to breathe as he moves and presses a kiss to your shoulder, entering you in one quick thrust. "Genesis 9:5 says, for your lifeblood, I will surely demand an accounting."

_What? You couldn't believe him. He was quoting the fucking Bible while buried in you to the hilt._

_"_ Aaron - "

You're cut off as he moves out, the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit, distractingly. Perfectly. _Fuck_.

He enters you again, harshly, his cock finding that spot inside you as he does. His voice deep and guttural, a groan falling from his mouth as he invades you fully once more. "From each man, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man."

_He was still doing it. How could he even remember to quote the Bible right then?! You couldn't even remember your own name._

You don't have the words as Aaron continues, pumping into you, his hand finding your clit to help you reach your peak faster. Neither one of you would last long. You're already a trembling, shuddering mess beneath him, back arched up, feet planted against the mattress for support, your hands traveling and touching any skin of his they could reach.

You can feel his breath hot against your ear, the weight of him on top of you as he ruts his hips against yours, and you can tell he's close. So very close. His hips stutter as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling softly, just enough. "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed." He was intent on fucking the verse into you. You release a broken cry at the feel of him. At his words. The passionate, gravely quality of his voice. He finishes with a loud groan, spilling into you, his ministrations against your clit paying off, propelling you towards the precipice as well. Your walls squeeze his cock, pulsing, clenching at the feel of his release inside you. He groans again, dropping on top of you, his hand going down and wrapping your thigh around him, pushing himself further into you still.

He lays on you for a moment longer, the only sound in the room being your breath and thudding hearts, beating in sync.

You're entirely drowned in ecstasy, even as you try to grasp onto the threads of the conversation the two of you had been having. You run your fingers through his soft hair, brushing back the sweat from his forehead, not minding the weight of him on you. He was crushing you entirely and you wouldn't exchange that for anything. No death could be better. Sweeter.

He rolls off of you after a few more moments, dropping next to you on his back, his legs dangling off the side of the bed.

You breathe deeply, before flipping over to lay on your back. You can feel the evidence of both of your releases inside you, but you can't be too bothered to care right then. Your hazy mind has managed to remember the conversation, and you turn your head, tucking your arms underneath to support it as you watch Aaron. He's laid on his back, one arm under his head, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, slowly settling into a steady state.

"If I wasn't going to hell for the patricide already, I'm definitely going to hell now for finding that far too hot." Your voice comes out low and whiny, a near whisper being all you could manage.

Aaron releases a breath of a laugh before he turns to settle on his side, drawing his legs up, moving closer so he's right beside you. So you can feel his skin against yours.

You reach out, your hand cupping his face and he leans in all too willingly, kissing you softly, completely. As he pulls back, you can feel his eyes examining you - searching. Trying to figure out what exactly it is that had you so thoroughly convinced that you didn't belong in heaven. Because he knows you and while at the time killing your father had been awful, he knew that you believed it had been right. Otherwise you wouldn't have done it.

"Can we accept the premise that killing your father isn't a dealbreaker?" he asks cautiously, his hand reaches out, settling into the curve of your waist, fingers curling into the skin. "What is it really?"

You blink, moving into his embrace, hands fidgeting slightly. You're nervous and you're sure he can tell. However, you know you need to tell him. Tell someone. If anyone should know, it's him. You lick your lips and sigh, looking up into his darkened eyes. "You've met my father. If you had to profile him, how would you do it?" Your voice is quiet, timid, unsure.

Your question is met by some apprehension. Aaron isn't certain, however he hesitantly answers you. "Control freak. Narcissist with a God complex."

You nod at his blunt assessment. "Did you ever wonder why my father - why he let me get away with so much?"

He hadn't.

"I broke off an exceptionally advantageous engagement. He did nothing. I cashed out my trust fund and ran away - slutting it up - " He flinches. " - on the cover of every trashy editorial. _Crickets_. I joined the FBI and he tried to take me out for dinner. Does he seem like the kind of man that tolerates that kind of insubordination?"

Aaron realizes that he should've thought about these questions. He should've thought to protect you from this back then. It was a miss. Especially after finding out what he had about Julian's death. And yet, there had never been anything in your father's interactions with you to suggest that he would do anything to truly harm you. Despite your fear of him.

"Do you remember what you wrote - in my recommendation letter to McKinney?" you murmured, your face right against his. If he moved a millimeter closer you'd be able to feel your nose against his.

Aaron watches you, his brow furrowing, wondering where exactly this was headed. He nods. He remembers. Your skin under his hands is starting to develop goosebumps. Without a word, he grabs you, shifting and maneuvering so that the two of you are laid together, heads at the headboard finally. He pulls at the blankets, draping them over you both and draws you back against him.

You place a quick kiss to his chest in thanks, fingers brushing over the scars that have persisted. Over time, he's become a lot more comfortable having his shirt off around you. It's still not something he will do in public, but around you, he feels comfortable enough. After all, you'd seen them back when they had been much worse.

He nods at you to continue. He has a need to know now. He has to know.

"The night that Matthew proposed to me, Julian and I got into a huge fight," you confess, legs tangling with his as your fingers trace the mapping of lines down his chest and stomach. "He revealed to me that my father - that the proposal was orchestrated. That it was part of some _deal_ between our fathers. That - ." Your voice breaks and Aaron is quick to run his hands soothingly down your back, whispering soft encouragement in your ears, his lips following your hairline. You sniffle and continue on. "He told me that our father gave me away. Without asking. Without talking to me about it. He _sold_ me."

It's Aaron who is lost for words this time. Out of all things, this - this he could not possibly have prepared for. All things considered, you're holding up remarkably, while his mind reels, putting everything he knows about Matthew into context with this new piece of information. He's struck by a tornado of anger towards your father. _How dare that man - that awful, cruel man, treat you like property? To be traded and sold at his whims as if you weren't a fully fledged human being of your own._

You find yourself rubbing your hands up and down Aaron's arms, knowing that he must be processing everything all at once. You've had nearly a decade to deal with it and it still feels overwhelming at times.

"I didn't want to believe it, but it made sense."

Aaron opens his mouth to speak - to say something helpful but no words come. You shake your head, reassuring him that it was alright. He needn't say anything.

"So, I woke him up. We talked. I told him I wasn't about to waste my life - being the perfect daughter and the perfect wife. I couldn't."

He nods. He expected nothing less. You weren't some trophy wife.

"Matthew didn't want me to work after we got married. But I wanted something to work towards. Something that would be mine. It wasn't fair that just because Dominic was the eldest son - that he would get it all. Everything. The entire _empire_. It was the one thing Matthew could never deny me. He wouldn't have dared."

Aaron's eyes widen as the realization begins to sink in. He takes in your gaze - blazing with renewed fire and fury at the situation you'd been in. The fervor within to escape, be your own person within the confines of the life you were in.

"My father - he fought me on it. Because the thing is, _sons_ inherit the earth. Sons and not daughters." You take a deep breath, watching Aaron who appears to have followed along marvelously, because you can tell that he knows exactly what you're trying to say now.

"I showed him, however -- " You nod your head shakily "-- how I had built connections with all the right people. How I was smarter, would work harder, be _better_ than anyone else he could possibly hope for to fill his shoes."

"You'd take over." His voice is low and the words feel reluctant on his tongue. Resigned despite the truth of them.

You nod. There it was - it was finally out there. Your worst secret that no one else had ever known. This secret had gone to the grave with your father. You hadn't even told John, knowing how disappointed he would've been in you - especially so soon after Julian's passing.

Aaron looks at you, taking in the guilt behind your eyes, the fear at revealing this to him. He knows too, that you're right. That if you had applied yourself to that, even half as well as you did to your job, you would've done it brutally well.

"That's why you think you aren't going to heaven," he concludes, his hands still rubbing up and down your back. He can feel your heart beating rapidly against his chest. It wasn't killing your father. It was this. "Sweetheart, you didn't do it, though. You didn't."

"I would've," you argue. "If Uncle Robert hadn't told me, even with Julian dead, I would've. I signed up for all of it Aaron. He _trained_ me. He _groomed_ me. Those things that you wrote in your letter to McKinney - all about how I'm _adept at reading people_. Because I can manipulate anyone into doing anything I want. He taught me how to do that. That I have an _aptitude for navigating politically nuanced situation_ s - because he showed me how to get close to the people that really matter. That I am _exceptional at tactical planning_ \- because from that day onwards, he planned out my entire life. And I let him. I helped him. Everything I did, anyone I spoke to, was all part of it. Part of his plans. So when I left, he wasn't ready to let go. He wasn't ready to _waste his investment_ in me." The words leave you like a storm - evidence in the case you'd been building against yourself, carved from marble and sitting heavy against your heart for the past decade. You hated how much of him you saw in yourself.

You're breathing really hard and there are tears clinging to your lashes as Aaron continues to hold you, pulling you in even closer, if that were possible. He couldn't even imagine how long you'd carried this with you. Nearly a decade of guilt and for what? For something you hadn't even carried through with.

"You didn't _actually_ do it," he repeats himself, brushing his lips against your forehead, knowing that right then that's what you need. All the reassurance that he doesn't see you any differently. That he never could. Especially not for this.

"Aaron, I would've been someone the Bureau goes after. Someone _you'd_ have gone after. But the difference is, I would've _never_ been caught."

Again, he knows you're right. Aaron isn't even surprised really at your entire confession - it stood to reason that you'd want the keys to the kingdom. From what he knew of you and your siblings, you really would be the person who was most capable, despite the dubious nature of the job. He's not naïve enough to think you couldn't have done it if you wanted to. You would've been _exceptional_ at it. But you didn't. Given the chance today, you wouldn't. For him, that's what mattered.

He brushes the hair out of your face tenderly, sweeping away all the wisps and baby hairs, holding your face in his hands. "You need to forgive yourself, Y/N. You need to realize that there is a difference between signing up for something and actually doing it. What you actually did, that's what matters. Regardless of the circumstances. That's what truly happened."

You're quiet, so he holds you. He can feel the tears trickling down your face, onto his chest as you bury your head into him once more.

It was an upheaval, telling him all of this. It's Aaron - and despite everything awful that you've revealed just then, he's being kind, compassionate, and understanding. You just told him that you'd essentially signed up to do every evil job known to mankind and he was _comforting_ you. Making sure that you wouldn't beat yourself up. That you forgave yourself. He didn't even - it was as if it didn't even matter to him. _How could it not, though? How could it not claw at him, being tangled up with someone he knows to be entrenched in evil?_

"You are a _good_ person, Y/N. A wonderful person. This - this one thing doesn't define you. Being good is a series of decisions and choices in that direction. One thing doesn't derail it entirely. That's what amends are for. What forgiveness is for. To show us that no matter what, we always have a chance." Aaron could only hope that you saw yourself the way he saw you. As someone who tried to be good. As someone who was good, through trying alone.

You want to believe him. You do. It sounds _peaceful_. But how do you know if you've made enough amends? How do you know if you've done enough?

He knows you're struggling to believe him. He wants to convince you, paint it into your skin, emblazon it onto your soul in a manner so unmistakable that you'd never question it again. _You're a good person._ He _needs_ you to believe it. Desperately.

Aaron tilts your face up by your chin, his lips meeting yours intensely. "You are a wonderfully good person, Y/N" His whisper falls against your lips, forcing you to swallow in his words. Breathe them in. Taste them. Let them settle into your stomach.

He places another kiss to the turn of your neck, tongue peaking out to lick at mark he'd left earlier, soothing over it. "You're a hero. You save people." He will make you believe it.

You watch in awe as he shifts, placing another kiss to the swell of your breasts. "You take _such_ good care of me and Jack." He will make you believe that you're the good he sees in life. Through all the horrors he sees day in and day out, he looks to you and he sees goodness and purity, laughter and joy.

You can feel the tears welling up again in your eyes, for an entirely different reason as you watch him. Watch this man, make his way down the length of your body, reminding you that you conquer monsters for a living. Remind you that you took down your father and in turn prevented him from doing more evil. Impress upon you the importance of everything you've accomplished since then - all the people you've saved, all the happiness you've brought, all the people you've loved.

You can't help but press yourself to him. Closer to him. Because his touch is the forgiveness you can never seem to give yourself. His touch is pure. His touch is good. It is divinity itself. Maybe if he touched you enough, it could make up for it all. Letting his essence cover up everything that came before.

Aaron draws up on his haunches, having just kissed your clit, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. You taste like what he imagines sunshine might taste like. He moves you up with him, into his lap and waits until you've met his mouth of your own volition, before pulling you down onto his cock, seating you fully against him.

You can taste yourself on his lips. You can feel him inside you so entirely, consumingly, fully. He clutches onto you, the drag of him inside you so powerful and potent, the bubbling euphoria encasing you. Your arms curl around his shoulders, fingers in his hair, as his wrap around your hips, helping you ride his cock exquisitely. Vastly, painstakingly slow.

Aaron watches you in his lap, taking him in - his. _Mine. Mine. Mine_. A chant on repeat in his brain as your wet, velvety walls grip him like a vice. Your beautiful pink lips parted ever so slightly, eyes half lidded. In his lap, against his body, taking his cock. _This - this was goodness. You were the source of all pleasure, delight, and happiness that he feels. If that is not goodness, then what is? If the God he calls God didn't recognize you as such, then what kind of God was he? Because he would gladly worship at your altar instead, if need be._

His hands grip you excruciatingly tight against him, unwilling to leave even the semblance of room between the two of you. It was as though he began where you ended and you ended where he began. "I don't care if you believe you're going to heaven or not," he declares, watching you take him. "I'm going to believe it enough for the both of us."

Before you can say anything in response, he draws your attention downwards, forcing you to watch. Watch as he exits you, wet and shiny, drenched in your arousal. Watch as he brings you back down, entering you immeasurably slowly and causing you to clench and flutter around him. _His._

You look back up, meeting his warm brown eyes, shining with love and compassion and the utmost respect. Everything that made you fall in love with this man. You watch as he pushes into you, moves you just _so_ \- so as to perfectly hit that spot inside you. You tilt your head back on a moan, your body shuddering and your back arching once more, pushing you closer and closer against him. When you return to face him, he looks at you. His eyes fixed on you. That look on his face, was nothing short of _reverent_. 

You come achingly fast, teeth sinking into his shoulder as you shudder around him, taking in his release. He continues through it, pushing his cum back into you in the process, keeping it there, mingling with both of your earlier release.

You're entirely weak as you sit in the cradle of his arms, balancing on his thighs. Your mind is far away and present at once. Present only in him - his touch, his feel, his lips, his words - surrounding you thoroughly.

You are both unhurried in your movements as you clean up together, no need or desire to speak further, content in the silence of one another.

Aaron cleans up the bed, making sure there are fresh sheets, as he watches your tired body put on the small slip you'd left out earlier. Your hair was wet again and he grabs a fresh towel, drying it once more as you lean against him, unable to stand on your own for much longer, your body still sore. He can see the marks he'd left behind blooming and he takes extra care as he urges you towards the freshly made bed. You slip in to your side as he lifts the duvet, quickly climbing in beside you and tucking the two of you into the covers - swaddling your body against his own. He places a gentle kiss to your lips, murmuring his love against them, the echo of his words reverberating against them. You fall asleep first, entirely spent, physically and emotionally. With any luck you'll enter a deep, dreamless sleep. He can hear your steady and even breaths paralleled with the slow rise and fall of your chest, persuading him to join you in slumber.

_Even if you didn't go to heaven - if for some God forsaken reason you were denied entrance - he'd willingly, gladly, go to hell with you._

With that final thought, he gives in to the call of your warmth and the sound of your breaths, allowing himself to be drawn into sleep beside you.


	48. Strings that Bind

Every part of you ached as you walked towards your bedroom, past Jack's door, down the long hallway. Your clothes clung to you as you clumsily made your way to the room. There was a shooting pain on your left side from where you'd taken a spill earlier. Your body screamed its protest at your insistence on pushing it to keep moving despite the hell it had endured, yet you force yourself to continue on through the pain. Your brain felt numb and like it had overheated in exertion at the same time. Finally so much made sense and yet, nothing really did. _What the hell had you gotten yourself into?_

As you entered, the room was dark save for the light streaming in from the hallway. You hadn't bothered turning it on yet. The dark felt better. You'd arrived home to a quiet house - Jack asleep already and Mrs. Avery leaving with a quick goodbye, seemingly sensing your desire to not speak much. She was good like that - perceptive, unobtrusive. In a way she reminded you of Mrs. Hernandez from when you were younger. In hindsight, you had more memories of her than you ever did of your own mother, despite her being let go after only a year. Your mother never did manage to keep a nanny around for too long. It wasn't that you were a troublesome child. She simply hated seeing you or Julian growing attached to any of them in particular, and thus kept a revolving door of nannies in and out of the house.

She'd hated that you insisted on calling her Mother. Never Mom or anything else softer - more personal, less clinical. Julian had tried to please her. He'd call her Mom to her face and revert to Mother otherwise. You wouldn't deign to give her that comfort. Participation trophies should be limited to children on soccer fields.

You shuffle into the room, trying to move quietly, peeling the jacket off and letting it fall out of your grasp and onto the floor. You glance over at the empty bed - Aaron was still away on a case. For the best, really. If he saw you right now, he would be able to tell that something was amiss. You reach up to swipe away at the tears that had formed as you'd trudged up the stairs, smearing eyeliner and dirt in your wake. You should go take a shower, clean up the dirt and soot that's coating you like a film. Instead you find yourself lowering against the side of the bed, feet planted to the floor as the tears take over, despite your attempts to keep yourself in check. Hot and wet, running down your cheeks in vain as you think back over the past twelve hours. _How had everything gone to shit so fast?_

You look up when you hear a shuffling outside your room, only to see Jack standing in the doorway, illuminated by the golden light outside, rubbing at his eyes. You feel a sting of guilt go through you as you realize you must've been loud enough on your way in to have woken him up. It was far too late for him to be awake.

"H–Hello." His voice comes out soft and groggy as he pushes open the door to your bedroom and makes his way inside, forcing more light to fall upon you.

He reaches you before you're able to force yourself to stand. You don't want him to see you like this but it is a little too late for that. Quickly wiping away any remnant tears with the sleeves of your shirt, you look up at his face. "Hey Bud, what're you doing up?"

Jack shrugs as if to say _I don't know, just because_ before settling down in front of you on the floor and crossing his legs. He looks up at you from there and you feel yourself being appraised in a manner eerily similar to Aaron. Between the two of you, you'd raised a kid that was a little too perceptive and observant for his own good.

"Are you okay?" he asks, moving in closer and putting his smaller hand on yours in a way you're quite certain he's seen Aaron do before.

You can feel your heart swell at the care and concern behind his question. You sniff and nod, before forcing a watery smile on your face. "I just miss your dad," you tell him, knowing that at least it wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the entire truth.

Jack watches you for a moment, head tilted to the side as if in deep thought. _How deep could a six year old's thoughts even be?_

"When I miss you or Daddy, I cuddle with Theo," he says finally, as if he's a little doctor prescribing the medicine to your ailment. You could imagine Jack on the nights neither you nor Aaron is at home, padding over to the shelf where his stuffed toys sit, and reaching over to grab the brown teddy bear that you'd gotten him after Haley passed away. Over the years the bear had been through quite a bit, getting dragged to playdates and the park early on, before retiring to a spot of prominence on the stuffed toy shelf. You'd done your best to keep him clean through all that time but despite that, Theo had gone through quite a few bows – a different color each time. If you weren't mistaken, it was a blue colored bow at the moment.

You smile at him, dragging him closer to you while making sure you aren't getting him dirty in the process. "Does it help?"

He nods. "A little. Then you're both back and I don't miss you anymore. Daddy will be back soon. He promised."

In that moment, you're so grateful that he has Aaron's eyes, because Aaron's eyes are whiskey and Aaron's eyes are honey and they are the first drip of coffee in the morning, helping you warm up and feel safe and at home always. Jack's eyes hold all of his father's heart and comfort but lack the sadness that life has flecked Aaron's with. It makes them better in a way. You could almost imagine it's what Aaron's had once been like.

You have to force yourself to take a deep breath in lieu of doing what you actually want to do, which is simply hold Jack like your own personal teddy bear and rock back and forth while crying. That might freak him out more than he likely already is.

"You wanna be my little cuddle bug for the night? Sleep here?" you ask, standing and lifting him with you as you go.

Jack nods enthusiastically, already moving to climb up onto the bed on Aaron's side. You watch as he makes himself comfortable, before you go get cleaned up.

By the time you emerge, Jack has already fallen back asleep and the only sound is from his gentle breathing. For a split second, you debate running down and grabbing your gun to keep by the bed, just in case. However, you remind yourself that the alarm system is in place and having the gun nearby has a much higher chance of hurting you or Jack than helping.

With that thought squared away, you gingerly lift the covers on your side, before slipping in carefully, so as to not disrupt the sleeping little boy next to you.

You lie awake for a while as you sift through everything that you've learned recently and how that changes things going forward. Tonight had been reckless on your part, and yet absolutely necessary. You couldn't even imagine what might've happened if you'd hesitated or not gone out there. You're once again thankful that Aaron is safely working a case in South Dakota, because you are nowhere ready to talk about everything just then. Nor could you, really. You couldn't actually tell him even if you wanted to – that was the worst part of all.

You're just about to drift away, when you feel Jack shift next to you, rolling over in his sleep to be closer, seeking you out with all of his limbs until you shift to be right next to him. He sighs in his sleep, causing the soft hair that had fallen into his face to flutter up with the next breath. _He could use a haircut._

"Mama"

His lips had scarcely moved, eyelids fluttering barely. A single, heavenly word. A whisper into which he breathed life. You freeze as he unconsciously shuffles closer, seeking out your body heat even under the covers. His little fingers tightening into the material of your shirt. You couldn't look away from him if you tried – eyes glued to his sleeping form, his long eyelashes, his angelic face. Your heart thumped and rattled against your ribs before settling in your throat. You didn't dare move. Didn't dare breathe. Just watched him. Watched as he clung to you even in his sleep.

*------------*

The team has been working on a case locally in Maryland, so Aaron has been able to spend the last few nights at home with Jack. He'd come back from South Dakota, in the evening to Jack and Mrs. Avery, having just missed you. The two of you had caught one another on a phone call as he drove to the airport a few states away and you drove to the airport, off to Europe once more. You'd sounded just a little subdued during the short call the two of you share, more so exchanging logistical information regarding Jack and his schedule rather than anything else.

You're supposed to arrive back tomorrow and the three of you have tickets to opening night for the ballet season which Jack has actually been looking forward to quite a bit. He'd already modeled his new outfit for the occasion for his father and when Aaron had looked in his closet, he'd seen a new suit for himself along with a tie matching Jack's bowtie. When you'd found the time to do all that along with preparing a few days' worth of meals and leaving a tray of tiramisu for him in the fridge, was entirely beyond him. As far as he knew, you were only back home with Jack for two days. Two very productive days it seemed like. He had a feeling that meant you hadn't slept much, if at all.

Aaron shifts as he continues to look over the paperwork he was catching up on. Despite an active case going on, it appears the cooling off period for this Unsub was fairly long, and so while the rest of the team ran down some leads, Garcia was digging deeper to see what she could unearth about the case. It left Aaron with a couple of free hours to start logging the ongoing paperwork for this case and catch up on the nearly thirty emails from Strauss around getting JJ recertified for fieldwork, as she had recently returned from her maternity leave (over far too quickly, as he'd been sure to tell her). The two of you had met baby Michael briefly, soon after his birth, going along with the rest of the team to JJ's home, laden with presents. Seeing you hold the baby with the utmost care, cradling him in your arms and softly cooing to him as he made himself at home in your embrace – it had stirred something within Aaron. You'd looked beautiful, your face glowing as you looked down at Michael, your eyes sparkling when you'd looked up and met his. He wanted that. He really wanted that with you.

He looks up then at the framed photo of the two of you on his desk and his heart fills with affection – it was the picture from New York, the two of you kissing on that red carpet. Dave had gone and gifted a framed copy to everyone on the team for Christmas, as a memento of that visit, and both of yours sat on your respective desks. Dave's copy had joined the slew of frames that sat on the counter running behind the desk in his office. Garcia's was the same for her own lair. JJ had taken her copy home and he's fairly confident it joined the scrapbook album she maintained as her art therapy – she said it kept her hands busy and her mind empty, best of both worlds. He's unsure where Morgan's copy ended up but he hasn't seen it around. Likely shoved to the back of the bottom drawer of his desk. Reid too had forgone the frame and Aaron had seen him use an oddly folded copy of the picture as a bookmark, whilst they'd been on the plane. Reid had gone to some effort to fold it in a manner so that your face was folded inwards – a difficult task indeed when one considered that the two of you had your lips locked together and he'd dipped you backwards. However it was Prentiss's copy which had truly caught his attention. It sat on her desk, in the same frame Dave had gifted it in. At first, Aaron had found this to be odd, because why would Prentiss want a framed photo of her coworkers kissing on her own desk. However, late one evening, when he was the last to vacate the premises, he'd walked by and upon closer inspection saw exactly why she kept it on her desk. She'd _vandalized_ it. In true homage to her teenage rebel self, she'd gone and taken a sharpie, drawing a vastly exaggerated handlebar mustache on Aaron's face and a small tiara on your head. He would rather die than admit that it had drawn a small laugh out of him, as he'd put the frame back exactly where he picked it up from and walked his way towards the elevators.

Aaron shifts in the chair, rolling his shoulder back, still sore from the workout he'd had with Morgan earlier that morning, before turning back towards the form he was in the midst of filling out. His hands move with rote familiarity, filling in the details from the case thus far. He'd started to have an odd feeling about this case a couple days ago. Something about the victims had started to feel off and running it by Morgan, his feeling had been corroborated. As a result, Garcia was running a more thorough investigation on linking all of the victims together.

The working out with Morgan was a new thing, borne out of him asking you why you never chose to work out with him, with you opting to go spar with Morgan instead. You'd confessed that since your exit from the team, you didn't get much time with Morgan. Working out together was a way for the two of you to still have some of that one on one time. You'd been sure to add on that there were quite a few workouts you'd want to engage in with Aaron alone, and those were all clothing optional.

All joking aside, you did seem to actually get a lot out of working out with Morgan, and so Aaron had thought that maybe it would be nice for him to do the same. Morgan had been quick to agree and the two of them had started with just running and lifting weights in the gym downstairs. It was easy to see why you enjoyed this time with Morgan, just the two of you. In the field he was a colleague who always had someone's back. In the gym, he put on more of the coaching hat and would walk through drills and steps with a calm and serene tone that was entirely approachable. Over the past few weeks, Aaron had easily bridged several subjects that neither him nor Morgan had touched over a decade of working together. It was primarily Aaron letting down his guard and allowing himself to vocalize his concerns regarding you and how much you'd taken on recently. Morgan, in turn, had conveyed his appreciation for Aaron's role leading the team, and had confided in him that it was highly unlikely he'd ever want to be unit chief again himself. If anything, taking on the mantle in Aaron's absence had convinced him of quite the opposite, and with him and Savannah getting married and thinking of starting a family, there was a high chance he might want to shift his career towards one that allowed a semblance of a family life. Knowing what he did now, Aaron could do nothing but wholeheartedly support that decision.

"Hotch."

Aaron looks up at the call of his name, to see Morgan standing in his doorway, looking agitated. 

"What's going on?" Aaron's already standing, making his way towards the door.

"Garcia found something last night, but we just got interrupted," Morgan explains, already turning away and walking towards the conference room where the team was set up to work on the case together. Aaron is quick to follow, his shoulders tensing and his brow furrowing as they both make their way to the room.

The sight that greets Aaron is odd, to say the least. Reid is stood near the whiteboard in the corner marker still in hand, Rossi has his arms crossed and is glaring towards the center of the room, and both JJ and Prentiss are stood like female lions, set to pounce on any threat to their cub. The cub in question - Garcia - was stood in the center at the round table, defiantly glaring up at Anderson, who it appeared, had stopped her from proceeding with her work. He was standing with one hand on her laptop and the other on the back of her chair, effectively preventing her from working any further.

"Agent Anderson, would you please mind explaining what is going on here?" Aaron squares his shoulders and fixes Anderson with a firm look, not at all appreciating how he's cornered Garcia and invaded her space.

However, before Anderson has a chance to explain, the door to the conference room opens and Aaron turns to see you standing there. His heart quickly fills with warm affection at the sight of you. He hadn't expected you home for another couple of days, so this was a pleasant, albeit untimely surprise.

He assumes you'd come looking for him, however he needs to deal with the situation at hand first, despite how much he'd rather just usher you away to his office and keep you to himself for say, the next hour or so, at least.

Aaron smiles at you quickly to acknowledge your presence and sees the others relaxing ever so slgihtly as well. "Hi sweetheart, if you want to wait in my office, you can. I can meet you there. Just have to deal with something first."

Instead of acknowledging him and leaving, however, you enter and close the door behind you, before quickly approaching Anderson and Garcia. "Agent Anderson, would you mind stepping outside, please?" you ask, your order soft but assertive. Anderson is quick to nod and do just as you asked without question. He releases the laptop and nods at Aaron before turning towards the door.

Aaron watches, confused, as Anderson closes the door behind him. _What on earth was going on and how were you involved? Since when did Anderson take orders from you?_ It is obvious from the looks on everyone else's faces, that their thoughts mirror his own.

"Penelope," you turn now to Garcia, who was still at the table, hovering over her computer. "I need you to explain to me how you gained access to the file on Project Titan."

There's a tense silence as the team looks between you and Garcia, piecing together that the interruption to Garcia's work was linked to your current assignment. The name of the project was unfamiliar to Aaron. It wasn't in any internal briefing packets or any departmental meetings. That could only mean it was classified to the maximum degree.

Garcia's brow furrows deeper as she looks at you in surprise, and she shakes her head, her colorful earrings bouncing as she does, before she even speaks the words. "I can't do that, Y/N You know I can't."

Your lips press together in annoyance at the answer you receive. You wanted this to be easier. You hadn't expected pushback. Aaron finally snaps out of his confusion and recognizes that he has to take control of the situation before anything spirals out further. "Y/N, what is going on?"

You look up sharply, meeting his eyes only for a second, during which Aaron can immediately tell that you are incredibly tired. Worn out almost. He detects more makeup than normal, likely covering up dark circles underneath your eyes. If he's not mistaken, it would appear that your clothes are hanging just the slightest bit looser on your frame, as though you'd lost some weight in the two weeks since he'd last seen you. There's a look in your eyes that gives him great pause – it's not fear exactly, but perhaps fear mixed with resignation. An acceptance for what needs to come next.

You scan the room as you speak, taking in the piles of files and the work on the whiteboard. "The BAU is no longer to investigate the Busch murder or any other affiliated crime." Your eyes come back to land on the computer sitting in front of Garcia. That's your sole objective right now. It's the only thing that matters.

The air in the room changes immediately, from tense to downright confrontational. Aaron knows that the rest of the team is looking to him, barely breathing. They're trusting him to handle whatever is going on, because he's the boss. None of them would risk speaking up and saying the wrong thing. They've been through this before countless times with other adversaries in the field - overzealous prosecutors, territorial detectives, politicians high on their own power. However it's you now. You're the person on the other side.

"You do not have the authority to tell the BAU which cases we can or cannot take," he says quickly, hoping to keep the conversation to a minimum and resolve whatever is going, alone with you back in his office. He tries to gesture at you to follow him out of the room, but his efforts are rebuffed once more.

"Actually I – I can," you falter just barely as you turn back to him, lips pressed together and shoulders hunched ever so slightly, your lips worn as though you'd been biting them in frustration. You don't want to be doing this – that much is quite obvious to Aaron. "This comes straight from the top. This case has been tagged as classified and this team is no longer authorized to work it." Your voice is detached, as though deliberately trying to avoid any of your obvious ties to the team you're speaking of. _Your_ team.

"Garcia," you turn once more to face her, "it is of the utmost importance that you tell me how you got to the Titan files. It has grave security implications around the project," you repeat your earlier request to Garcia, this time with an attempt at persuasion, hoping to appeal to her innate desire to help you in particular. Aaron can acknowledge that that is exactly what you're doing in that moment. Trying to leverage your relationship to Garcia while simultaneously distancing yourself from the team. He has to acknowledge. He does not have to like it.

Garcia shakes her head again at your question, looking up and meeting Aaron's eyes. She's scared and her eyes are wide with fear, yet brimming with defiance still. She's awaiting his instruction on how she should proceed. This was such a bizarre situation. You have to know very well that Garcia had done what she usually does – employ a slightly dubious manner of obtaining any information asked of her. Usually that is perfectly fine. Usually no one stops her. Usually she doesn't have friends on both sides – one asking her not to speak while the other implores her to give herself up.

You turn and follow Garcia's eyesight, only to see Aaron shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He's indicating to her to not speak at all. Saying nothing is far better than saying something in this case, he's decided. Saying anything at all could cause a ripple effect of consequences that they have no visibility to yet.

"Y/N, why don't we take this to my office?" He is intent on moving this discussion so that the two of you can speak more freely and get to the root of whatever is happening here.

You look at him once more, apology in your eyes as you let out a sigh. _Shit._ He can feel the tense coil in his stomach grow tighter. He's not used to seeing you like this. So very obviously doing someone else's bidding. He didn't even know yet what Garcia had stumbled upon, but if it had to do with your project – from what little he knows of it – it wasn't good. It simultaneously raises the stakes for the string of murders the team had been investigating, as well as effectively shuts them out. As it stands, your clearance level is actually higher than his. Higher than Strauss's even.

Ignoring Aaron's request another time, you pull your shoulders back and stand to the full extent of your height, back completely straight. Even then you barely are able to look Penelope head on. "Agent Garcia," your voice is clipped as though you're reading from a script, and Garcia immediately takes a small unconscious step back at your words. "I need you to hand over the laptop to me and if I have to ask again, it will be in an interrogation room and I will recommend that you retain a lawyer."

A loud silence rings through the room at the threat you'd issued. You'd run the gamut for your patience with the situation and you're prepared to see this through to a bitter end if need be. Aaron knows that wasn't you at all and he also knows that whoever was puppeteering you at that moment had enough pull for you to do this at all. Meaning this was the nicest possible version of whatever the original threat had been, watered down at your insistence. There was no way you would let someone just threaten Penelope without a fight.

He meets Morgan's gaze and then turns to Rossi. The three of them have a silent exchange before Aaron turns once more to Garcia, who was now clutching the laptop to her chest as though her life depended on it.

You look between him and Garcia, carefully avoiding looking at Morgan or Prentiss. Your eyes urge him to comply, because you can't promise that the situation won't escalate otherwise. He knows that. He knows that you're trying to resolve this in as easy of a manner as possible with minimal blowback to the team. Trusting that you know what you're doing, he nods at Garcia, giving her the go ahead to hand over the laptop. Whatever happens next, they'll deal with it.

You nod your thanks at Aaron for not putting up more of a challenge. "Thank you." Squaring up once more, you swallow, your tongue peeking out briefly to lick your lips and Aaron can see that the hand that isn't holding on to the laptop is clenched tightly. No doubt there will be red indented crescents in your soft palms momentarily.

Thinking that was the end of it, Aaron is about to usher you into his office if he can, however as you turn once more to Garcia, your next words shock him to the core. "Effective immediately, you are suspended, pending further notice."

There is an immediate outcry. Morgan asks you what you think you're doing. Prentiss is quick to move closer to Garcia. JJ informs you that you cannot do that. However it is Garcia who appears entirely stupefied and paralyzed. The hurt look on her face, accompanied by the sharp gasp had forced you to turn away from her, avoiding the betrayal tinged tears in her eyes.

You continue on, however, ignoring everyone but Aaron now. "The BAU needs to hand over any material on the case thus far. You are not to investigate it further. You are not to disseminate this information to anyone else. You are not to speak of it to one another. Any violation of these terms will result in an immediate suspension for all involved parties, pending internal review."

With that, you walk past your old teammates, past Aaron, and open the door to Anderson waiting outside. "Agent Anderson, will you please escort Agent Garcia to her office to grab any personal belongings and then follow her to her home. Any Bureau issued devices must be confiscated from there as well."

Anderson nods and looks expectantly at Garcia, who is standing in the midst of the rest of the others, Morgan's hand on her back, rubbing in soothing circles.

She gives a shaky nod before moving away from everyone and walking towards the door. As she approaches you, Aaron sees you reach out and grab her arm before leaning in and whispering something into her ear, imperceptibly low. He turns immediately to Reid, hoping he was able to discern whatever you had said, and Reid nods as they all watch Anderson escort Garcia away. You'd angled yourself at an angle optimal for him to be able to read your lips.

You scan the room once more, a dissatisfied grimace on your face, before your eyes land finally on Aaron once more. He has no words for you, unsure of what to say or what to do without knowing more. You nod once more at him, and he takes that to mean that the two of you will discuss whatever just happened later at home that night.

Turning, you closing the door behind you as you go, the laptop clutched in your hands and he watches you walk down the stairs, teetering in the heels you were wearing, and through the bullpen towards the exit. He can just barely make out you calling the elevator, and instead of going down, you go up. He can only imagine which floor you're headed to.

He turns back to face the team, finding them all looking at him.

Reid looks up meeting Aaron's eyes, his own giving away how shaken he was with the events that had just transpired.

"Reid, what did Y/N say to Garcia?"

Reid swallows, looking around the room at the rest of the team – Morgan who still looks furious, JJ and Prentiss who both seem to be processing the strange turn of events, and Rossi, whose normally stoic outlook was marred by a grim expression.

"Be careful. They'll be watching."

*------------*

By the time you arrive back home, it is very late and the house appears to be dark, save for the light emanating from the small lamp in the study. You stop outside the door, keys in one hand and bag in the other, and take a deep breath. Today had been absolute _shit_. From the rushed plane ride back ,to the conversation with McKinney, to having to actually be the one to issue Garcia's suspension notice – this day would make the top worst days on the job hall of fame. _Who would've thought you'd ever go toe to toe with the Director of the FBI and live to tell the tale?_

You feel dead tired on your feet and you genuinely could not remember the last time you'd slept, having asked the flight attendant for an energy drink an hour prior to landing, and having chugged another one on the walk over from McKinney's office to the BAU conference room. It was a wonder your heart hadn't given out right then, thrumming inside as fast as a hummingbird's when you'd entered that conference room to see Anderson having followed your instructions to impede Garcia from digging any further into the files.

A deep sigh leaves you as you unlock the door and enter quietly, quickly removing your heels before turning towards the study. You knew to expect Aaron there, and there he was. He was at the desk, surrounded by paperwork, and looking up at your entrance. You'd figured he would stay up no matter what. He'd been the worst part of today. Having to go over his head. In front of the team. You could only imagine how that might have made _him_ feel. It had definitely made you feel like the absolute worst person on the planet.

You walk to the doorway of the study, stopping at the entrance. He meets your gaze head on, and you're happy to note that he actually looks well despite everything. The past few days at home seem to have done him some good. He has a healthy glow about him, his hair flopping on his forehead, his white t-shirt stretched across his chest. If you're not mistaken, he looks just a little more filled out, in the best of ways – his typically lean body packed with slightly more definition. Something you'd learned to notice through Derek.

"Hi." His voice is softer than you'd anticipated considering your actions from earlier in the day.

You offer him a small, quick smile in response. "Hey."

It's quiet as the two of you look at one another, both unsure how exactly to proceed. You look at your watch, and noting the hour, know you need to move this along despite wanting to linger and explain everything. You don't have that luxury. "Can we talk while I pack? I'm sorry," you sigh. "I have another flight out in a few hours."

Aaron's brows knits together, reminding you that he doesn't know of the change to your schedule yet. However, he nods, knowing you'll explain further. Standing, he walks over to you, wordlessly reaching for your bag, and together you both head upstairs to the bedroom, not wanting to make too much noise while Jack was asleep.

You enter first and walk towards the bathroom and through to the closet, Aaron walking in behind you and closing the door before following. He watches quietly as you quickly change into clothes you'd be more comfortable in during the flight, and in lieu of having nothing else to do, occupies himself with emptying your bag and dumping the clothes into the laundry basket, before busying himself with replenishing your toiletry kit with practiced ease. Anything to make this easier on you. He's tempted to ask if you'd eaten today but he's worried he won't like that answer and he doesn't want to agitate you further with whatever his own reaction would be. He trusts you'll eat on the plane once you're able.

"I'm sorry for today." You've started to pick out a new set of clothes for the next trip, not entirely sure how many days you should pack for. Clyde hadn't been too clear. You decide to err on the side of overpacking, grabbing a few outfits for a professional setting and many others for casual casework, before dumping the entirety of your underwear drawer into a packing cube.

"Let me guess, you can't say anything." Aaron's finished replacing anything you'd run out of, even making more to make a few more pads and tampons for you from underneath the sink, knowing you're about due for your period soon. He'd had the entire evening to think through the events of earlier and he knows his hands are tied and so are yours. He doesn't want to shoot the messenger – he knows that was what you'd been forced into being today. None of that was your call.

You smile your thanks as he hands you a fully loaded toiletry kit, trusting him to have done it perfectly as he has countless times before. "Not much, I'm afraid. But understand that that was the best possible outcome for the time being. There were talks of a treason charge that – well let's just say that depending on what is found on the computer, there's a chance I won't have a job by tomorrow morning."

Aaron halts at that as you continue to fold and put clothing into the bag. He'd suspected as much, but to actually hear that you'd put your own job on the line for Garcia – needless to say he isn't surprised. If anything, it makes it so that he trusts that you did your absolute best to ensure that no harm would come from the backlash, to either Garcia or the rest of the team. His respect for you increases tenfold. He's not so much worried about solving some highly classified murder cases as he is about ensuring that nothing happens to the team or you.

"Are you alright?" He makes sure to catch your gaze as you move around, so that he'll know if you aren't being entirely honest as you answer that particular question.

It had been a while since anyone had actually asked you that, and really you don't have it in you to lie to Aaron. You pause to look at him directly, your shoulders dropping as you release a deep sigh. "No. I just can't do anything about it yet."

He hates this. He hates that you feel entirely vulnerable and exposed and entirely helpless to change that. He hates that he can't do anything to make it better. You shouldn't have to feel like this while he's around. You shouldn't have to look at him and feel like you can't ask anything of him. How is he supposed to be the person you turn to if you aren't even permitted to tell him what you're dealing with?

Sighing, he runs a hand over his face tiredly as you finish packing and zip up the bag, hoisting it up by the handle, only for him to reach forward and grab it from you once more before the two of you exit to the bedroom. There, he sets the bag down and grabs your arm – the first true physical contact the two of you have had in two weeks and you can feel your resolve to keep it together waver just at that alone.

Aaron pulls you in, hugging you tight, his arms encasing you fully. You can feel the warmth seeping through him, feel his heart beating in his chest as you rest your cheek against it, allowing yourself this moment of respite. You sniffle slightly, holding the tears at bay. It was so easy to let yourself open up to him, and yet you truly couldn't afford to breakdown then. _Later_ , you tell yourself. _After this is over._

You reluctantly pull away, knowing there's at least one more thing you need to discuss with him tonight before you have to leave. He looks down at you in question, having noted the sudden tensing of your jaw as you look up at him. You bite your lip and he resists the urge to lean down and soothe the ache there – kiss over all the places you'd bitten raw until they're better.

"Today sucked, Aaron," you confess, your voice hushed and your throat heavy with held back emotion, still standing in the circle of his arms. "The worst part was going over your head though. I know you aren't saying it, because you're far too noble to say anything about it, but I know that sucked for you too."

Aaron takes in a deep breath, thinking over your acknowledgement, knowing you're opening the floor to have that conversation further. However right then, you superseding his authority is the least of his concerns. He's not bothered by it in the same manner you appear to be.

"Can you handle me doing this job, knowing that this could happen again?" You look up at him with worry in your eyes, watching his reaction carefully.

At your question, he tenses. His mind goes to the worst of places and his breath comes out shallow as he looks down at you, a storm brewing behind his molten eyes. "What does that mean?"

Your brow furrows, appraising his question and his reaction in tandem, before realizing exactly where his head went at that. "Hey, relax, it's alright." You reach out and softly brush your hands down his arms before reaching up to cup his jaw softly, thumb caressing lightly back and forth across his cheek. "This isn't you and Haley, Aaron," you remind him. "I'm not you and you are definitely not Haley."

He nods, though his posture remains tense despite his face eagerly tilting and allowing the comfort you offered with your touch.

"I have a job offer," you continue, "from the CIA. I haven't responded to it yet – told them I'm actively working a case and can't give them an answer yet. But, if this, us – if we are going to have issues running into each other at work, then there are other options."

This is news to Aaron. He hadn't known you were being sought out by the Agency and while he isn't surprised that they'd reach out to you – you're brilliant, of course they would – he's surprised that you're entertaining it. He's familiar with your disdain for the CIA, still holding somewhat of a grudge from your initial rejection. However, to know that you'd consider working somewhere you don't like, for the sake of preserving your relationship with him – that's not something he would ever ask of you. He was an adult and so were you. Professional disagreements did not have to bleed into your personal life, especially with him knowing exactly how much you'd risked today for Garcia's sake.

"I can handle it," he's quick to reassure you, moving his head to kiss your palm, his hand reaching up to grab yours, squeezing gently.

You pause, assessing his answer, before nodding. "Okay, offer still stands if you reconsider. I have until this wraps up to decide."

You reach for your bag but he beats you to it, grabbing it once more as the two of you make your way out of the room and down the hallway. You pause briefly outside of Jack's room, wanting to see him but decide against it. You don't want to risk waking him up and getting him all excited.

Aaron notes your pause and with you leaving once again despite there being ballet tickets booked for Saturday, he knows you're going to have to disappoint Jack on that front. He meets your eyes and smiles softly, understanding in his eyes. You don't usually make promises you can't keep with Jack. That's always been more so his thing.

The two of you reach the foyer once more and you turn around and grab the bag from Aaron's hands. The driver is still waiting for you outside.

"Kiss him for me? I'll call as soon as I can."

He nods. "Of course sweetheart."

You lean up quickly, a quick brush of your lips against his that he's quick to reciprocate. His arms wind around your back, lips greedily moving against yours. He'll make the most of any opportunity he has with you right now. He won't squander a single second. Not when every kiss like this leads to your extended absence each time. Not when every kiss is only a reminder of all the kisses the two of you have missed out on lately. Not when neither of you are ever sure which kiss could be the last.

You move away, your eyes sparkling once more in a way that is so familiar to him that it causes a pang in his chest just to have a glimpse of them like this, if only for a moment. If only even as you're leaving. He'll take it. He'll take whatever you can give. Anything. Everything.

Then you're out the door and he watches the driver exit and take your bag for you. You wave quickly, urging him to go back inside. Then you're gone. Just like that, you're gone.

*------------*

The team had moved on to another case after being banned from the Busch murder investigation. As it stood, the official party line was that they were deferring to the will of the higher ups. Rossi had even brought the matter to Strauss's attention, and while she had been surprised by what had transpired, she'd told them both that it was entirely out of her hands. The decision had come down from McKinney directly and there was no changing his mind.

It had been about a week since he'd seen you off, during which you'd called once to apologize to Jack for having to miss the ballet. Jack had taken it well enough, and you'd promised that you were going to do your best to make it up him. You'd already lined up Prentiss to fill in for you, knowing Jack would appreciate having Auntie Emily to spoil him for the evening. Aaron had spoken with you then, and you'd told him that you would do your best to figure out the Garcia situation. The team was struggling working with Kevin Lynch; he simply lacked Garcia's natural talents.

Aaron, however, finds himself far more concerned about you. He knows that ultimately Garcia would be fine. He'd already submitted a request to have her reinstated and even Strauss was supporting him in getting her back as soon as possible. However, with you, he feels entirely helpless. Obviously the assignment with Interpol had you run ragged and you'd even confessed that not everything was alright, but with your differing levels of clearance at the moment, there wasn't much he could say or do to be of any assistance. As a result, your conversations together are brief – soft exchanges where he reminds you that he's there when you need him, whispered acknowledgements from you riddled with a pain that makes his heart ache for you. He knows too well how difficult it is to keep anything secret between the two of you, and this is something that you so obviously want to share with him, that it is painful for him to watch you struggle through it without being able to do just that.

Having just landed the night before from a case in Milwaukee, Aaron is busy reading through everyone's reports, his eyes glazing over Reid's – he expects nothing but the utmost thoroughness there. Looking it over is a formality at best. Not that he'd admit that to anyone else. Morgan, however, had confided in Aaron that whilst he'd been unit chief, he'd given up reviewing Reid's reports altogether. Aaron had to think he was getting soft with age – or maybe it was due to the kinder friendship he shared with Morgan nowadays. His only reaction had been a light chuckle, much to Morgan's surprise.

There's a knock at his door, interrupting his perusal, to which he grants entrance.

Looking up, he sees you standing there, a plain black suit hanging off of you, matching the dark circles that are plainly visible on your face. Your hair is pulled away from your face and tied up professionally and, surprisingly, you're wearing flat shoes. He can't remember ever seeing you wear flat shoes around the office, almost always opting for something with at least a slight heel. It's as though all pretense has left you, leaving behind only you in the rawest form – unable to pretend to be alright any longer.

"Hi." You walk in, forcing a slight smile. The smile doesn't manage to reach your eyes.

He's about to stand so he can walk around to greet you, but you interrupt him with a quick shake of your head, raising your hand to stop him. "It's alright. I just came to drop this off."

You place a piece of paper on his desk, which he's quick to reach for, fingers brushing against yours. You pull back quickly. He doesn't say anything, unsure what to make of that. Maybe he'd imagined it.

They're reinstatement papers for Garcia. Her suspension was over.

"Thank you," he says quietly, looking up to meet your eyes. You blink and look down. He doesn't think he's ever seen you look quite so… _frail._ It makes all of his worries from the past week compound, and he's once again making to stand so he can greet you properly.

"It's alri–"

He's reached you before you can stop him again and as he reaches out for you he detects a nearly imperceptible flinch as his hand reaches up towards your arm. He stops, his stomach lurching. You don't flinch away from him. Ever.

"Sweetheart, are you sure you're alright?" he asks, making sure his voice is low and soft, as unthreatening as possible.

You look up to meet his eyes and you just look so entirely defeated. As if someone had stolen what little hope you might've had that this – whatever this was – would turn out alright.

"Um – yeah. It's fine. Don – don't worry about it." You take a deep breath and he can see you donning the mask once more. The mask that would allow you to walk out of his office. The one that had likely slipped in his presence out of habit, despite any attempts to keep it in place. Keep whatever was going on, hidden from him too. He's at once heartened to realize that you can't fake it in front of him if you tried, and terrified that you'd tried at all.

"Y/N – "

You're shaking your head, so he stops. He doesn't know what to do. How to help.

"I'm going to be off the grid for a bit," you inform him matter-of-factly, your voice clear and concise once more. "Might be hard to reach me, but if you need something, you should be able to go through McKinney."

You've turned around and are already walking away.

"Hey, wait."

His voice stops you at the door and you turn around towards him, eyebrow raised in question.

There's nothing more he can say at this moment. Nothing to convince you to stay or let go of this assignment. It would be futile and he knows it. Whatever it is that you're working through, he trusts that you'd tell him if you possibly could. Without that, the only thing he can do is hope and pray that this is over soon. That you come back to him safe and sound. So he says the only thing he can say.

"I love you."

You take a shallow, shuddered breath, your jaw clenching as you meet his worried gaze. There's a moment where he thinks that maybe you're about to simply give in – throw caution to the wind and tell him everything, consequences be damned. It passes as quickly as it appeared, however. You offer him the barest of smiles that's gone before he can truly bask in its arrival.

"I know."

With that, you're gone. He watches as you walk down the stairs, steps slowing down slightly behind Prentiss and Morgan's desks. Neither of them look up towards you. You continue on towards the elevators and then you're gone.

*------------*

Dave was coming for dinner that evening, and Aaron had just filled him in on your quick appearance earlier that afternoon. He's packing up his belongings while Dave waits for him, when Strauss peaks her head in to his office.

"Heading out?" she asks, looking from him to Dave.

Aaron nods.

Dave smiles and gestures her in. "I have a dinner date with a six year old. Aaron is chaperoning."

She lets out a light laugh and Aaron can't help but think that it's an odd sound coming from her. He's never going to get used to Strauss and Dave being a thing. He's almost grateful that you aren't there, as the last couple of times the two of you have seen Dave interacting with Strauss, you've gone out of your way to whisper the most disgustingly inappropriate things to him about the two of them and their supposed debauched sex lives. He could do without those particular nightmares.

"Aaron, I just wanted to drop off this paperwork for you. Agent L/N has already signed it, so it just requires your signature. Feel free to drop it off tomorrow." She hands him an envelope before breezing out of the room and wishing them both a good evening.

Aaron looks up to find Dave's face reflecting his own curiosity. _What required yours and his signatures?_ The paperwork for your designation change had gone through a while ago.

He opens up the envelope and looks at the header. His vision starts to blur around the edges and he might have stumbled slightly, alarming Dave in the process, who marches forward and helps steady him, before grabbing the papers from Aaron's hands.

"Dissolution of Consensual Relationship Agreement?" Dave's words echo through the room and yet to Aaron it is as though he hears them from underwater. The big block lettering. Your signature on the line. Your delicate script outlining your name.

His heartbeat has sped up quite a bit. His hands feel clammy, his breath coming in short spurts. The ringing in his ears – always present in the background and easily ignored – is a high pitched whine as blood rushes madly through his veins.

"Aaron, look at me."

He looks up at Dave, who appears stunned despite his calm and direct voice. Aaron just feels numb. He surpassed shock within the first second. He's strictly at numbness now. His mouth feels dry as though there was a cotton ball in there. He blinks repeatedly as he tries to focus on Dave's face.

"Aaron, do you truly believe Y/N would ever end things with you in this way? Really?"

_Would you?_ He has to think you wouldn't. There would be a conversation. Nothing had happened. Well, obviously something had happened, but nothing had happened between the two of you. Your things were still at home. You hadn't uttered a single word of this to him today, despite having come by to drop off Garcia's paperwork. Sure, that interaction hadn't been wonderful. It had left him with a deep concern that had occupied much of his thoughts the rest of the afternoon. But truly, no. Nothing was wrong with the two of you. At least, nothing that he knew of.

He slowly shakes his head.

"Exactly. She wouldn't. Look, something is obviously going on, but it boils down to one question. Do you trust her?"

He nods. Yes. Of course he trusts you. There is no one he trusts more.

"Alright, then let's not overreact. Once she's back, I'm sure there's some sort of reasonable explanation for this."

Dave's right. Aaron knows that he's right.

Even if he isn't, he's going to choose to believe him for now. The alternative would crush him entirely. He can't afford that. Not yet. Not until he's seen you and you confirm it one way or the other.

He takes a deep breath, looking from Dave to the papers that are still in his hand. Leaning forward, he grabs a pen from the cup on his desk. He knows what he has to do.


	49. Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback Chapter set between Chapter 44: Wasteland and Chapter 45: Je t’aime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback Chapter set between Chapter 44: Wasteland and Chapter 45: Je t’aime.

Contrary to popular belief, Aaron Hotchner's favorite place was not his oak-lined office at Quantico. No, his favorite place in DC was the Moongate Garden at the Smithsonian, preferably at sunset. It was the place he'd first appreciated the cherry blossom trees in full bloom, it was where he'd decided on George Washington for law school, and it had been the place he'd gone to, to await Rossi's call that he'd gotten the position on the BAU.

You didn't know this though. He'd never told you about the Moongate Garden at the Smithsonian. He'd never told anyone, not even Haley. He felt oddly protective of it - as though not telling anyone about it somehow preserved how special it was.

Aaron woke up on the morning of November 2nd to a cold bed, which was unusual to say the least. You only woke up early for work, and that too usually only _after_ he'd forced you to. You'd told him that this problem only arose once the two of you got together. It was hard to want to leave bed when he made it warm with his presence.

He could hear some sounds coming from the kitchen - it sounded like you and Jack were already awake and making breakfast. He drags himself out of bed and looks towards the nightstand for his phone, but sees only the empty charging cord. Frowning, he looks around but doesn't see it anywhere else either.

He decides to go downstairs and see if you'd seen it anywhere. The scene that greets him is - chaotic to say the least. The entire living room ceiling is crowded with floating balloons and the kitchen is a mess. Both you and Jack look up to see him standing by the island - Jack was in the midst of pouring a glass of orange juice while you flipped pancakes - blueberry by the look of it.

You recover first. "Happy Birthday!" you exclaim, turning off the stove as you flip the last of the pancakes onto the serving platter.

Jack puts down the juice container and runs over to hug his father. "Happy Birthday, Dad!" he smiles wide, looking up at Aaron as his father hugs him back.

"You didn't have to go to so much trouble, you know," he says, gesturing towards the balloons and breakfast. He wasn't used to a fuss for his birthday.

You roll your eyes as you walk over to him, kissing him lightly on the lips for Jack's sake. His real birthday present was sitting in a small black bag in the back of your closet.

"Of course I did," you grin, as both him and Jack grab a seat at the island, Jack handing his father the glass of juice. You grabbed the pancakes and syrup before settling down on Jack's other side.

  
Jack had helped you plan out Aaron's birthday. The two of you had decided that breakfast followed by a Star Wars marathon with him and Jack was the perfect way to spend the day. You'd arranged for lunch to be delivered for them later, so after breakfast you quickly cleaned up and got ready while Jack dragged Aaron to the couch. You'd grabbed Aaron's work phone early on. There would be no cases today - not if you could help it.

As you got back downstairs, Aaron raised an eyebrow at you from his position on the couch. "Where do you think you're going?" he asks, gesturing at the fact that you're all dressed up while both him and Jack were still in their pajamas.

"Just some errands I have to run," you reply, keeping your tone casual. You knew he'd see right through it, but you weren't exactly about to admit to everything either.

He narrows his eyes in suspicion, a small smile betraying his otherwise serious face. Jack was still setting up for the movie, so Aaron gets up to walk you to the door. He has an inkling that something more is afoot as he walks through the dangling ribbons from all of the balloons.

"What've you got planned?" he asks, leaning against the door and blocking your exit route, just out of view of the living room.

You ignore his question, grabbing your keys. He grabs your waist tightly as you approach the door, causing your breath to hitch. You watch as his face breaks into a smirk at your reaction. You're wearing flat shoes so he looms over you entirely, pulling you closer. You turn your head to make sure Jack can't see, before meeting his eyes again. If that look was anything to go off of, your little outfit for tonight was sure to be discarded very quickly.

" _Go_. Spend the day with your son," you say sternly, going up on your toes to place a quick kiss to his cheek. He turns his head and captures your lips with his instead, hands moving from your waist to your back, nearly lifting you and leaving you breathless. You have to stop yourself from jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You let him kiss you for a moment more, before drawing away and ducking under his arm to get to the door.

You give him a light push towards the living room, drawing the door shut behind you.

By four o'clock, Aaron and Jack had made it through three movies, lunch, and made a significant dent in the popcorn and candy you'd left. He reckoned old age was making him soft, since Jack was already on his third candy bar of the day and he had yet to say anything about it. His son had grabbed the third one hesitantly, glancing over at his father. Upon no objection, he'd quickly opened it and taken a large bite. Aaron had to suppress a laugh at that.

He was just about to pop in the next movie when the doorbell rang and he went to answer the door to Prentiss, who barged in without an invite and called for Jack. Aaron watched, confused, as his son greeted her and then raced upstairs to supposedly get ready.

"You should get ready too, Hotch," Prentiss says, making herself at home in the living room.

"What am I getting ready for, exactly?" He wasn't sure what was going on or why Prentiss was here but there was obviously a plan in place, given how his son had bounded upstairs to get dressed.

"Just wear something nice, casual. She's wearing red, if it matters," she smirks at him. The two of you matching was a constant source of mockery for the team.

Accepting that he wouldn't be getting any answers out of her, he goes upstairs to shower and get ready. He decides to wear the burgundy polo that you'd bought for him a few weeks ago. Apparently it was _his_ color.

When he walks downstairs, he's greeted by you, dressed in a deep red dress that hugs your body. You _definitely_ hadn't been wearing that when you left.

"Now will you tell me what the plan is?" he asks as he reaches the landing.

You shake your head no. It was too fun keeping him in the dark about this. Surprising Aaron was difficult and you knew you weren't actually pulling anything over on him. He was sure to at least suspect what he would be walking into tonight, but there was a small part of tonight that you thought would at least be somewhat unexpected.

"Turn around," you instruct, whipping a blindfold out of seemingly nowhere.

He raises an eyebrow at you, lips curling up in amusement as he turns around per your instructions. "I didn't realize the kinky part of the night was going to start so early."

Shaking your head with a laugh, you tie the blindfold over his eyes, securing a knot tightly at the back of his head. "Alright, that should stay. Grab my hand."

He turns back around and finds your soft waiting hand, grasping it tightly in his own and knitting your fingers through his. "If I trip and fall it is entirely your fault," he quips, lips still upturned as he allows you to lead him out the door and slowly down the front steps, taking them one at a time.

"Watch it. We wouldn't want that pretty face of yours to suddenly meet the concrete."

When you reach your car, you open the passenger door for him and help him in, making sure he's safely buckled in before going around to the other side. He looked quite adorable, seated there with the blindfold on, sitting with such an air of ease. Once you're in, you lean over, quickly capturing his lips with your own. He starts at your sudden touch, but is quick to reciprocate, tongue peaking out and brushing over your lower lip, begging your mouth open as he captures the lower lip between both of his. The gentle sucking sensation has your stomach swooping, a low moan escaping you as you ignore the middle console digging into your stomach while you're leaned over across it to get to him.

You pull back, his mouth following yours as far as possible until he's stopped by the seatbelt locking him in place. The sheer frustration on his face, brought upon by such a simple thing as a seatbelt, forces a laugh out as you gently push him back to be seated properly in his seat despite his protests.

"We can't have sex in the car right now, Aaron." You shake your head, buckling your own seatbelt into place.

"I wasn't suggesting we have sex in the car. The house is right there. We could just head back in."

"Hmm, tempting. But no. We have plans tonight."

"Ah yes, the surprise birthday par–" He stops, having realized that he'd given away that he already knows that all of your friends are awaiting his arrival at some undisclosed location.

You chuckle lightly, reaching over and squeezing his hand that's resting on the center console. "It's alright. I figured you knew about that already."

"Great. Can I take the blindfold off then?" He looks at you with a small pout, thinking you'll just give in.

"Do you know where the party is?" you ask, eyes narrowed, not that he could see. _Emily better not have given it away when she came to grab Jack._

There's a silence before he finally gives in. "…No."

"The blindfold stays on."

With that said, you pull out of the driveway and onto the street, towards your destination.

Aaron tried to mentally keep track of the turns you're taking at first. A left and then two rights. Then onto the freeway ramp. He can only be sure of the first few exits and after that he's in the dark about where you're headed. Which was exactly your intention. Thus the blindfold.

You've turned the music to a playlist with any song with the word Birthday in it. There aren't a lot and it isn't long until Birthday Sex is playing, at which he looks over at you expectantly. "Is that going to be happening tonight?" There's some amount of humor in his voice as he asks, his shoulders actually moving along to the beat of the music unconsciously.

You look over at him, taking in the smile playing at his mouth. "Sex? Probably. If you behave," you tell him, turning off the freeway finally. 

He snorts. _As if you'd hold out on sex with him on his birthday. As if you'd ever held off._ Well, that wasn't entirely true he supposed. You took far too much pleasure out of driving him insane throughout the day when you could. Putting it off again and again until he becomes so wholly overcome with need and built up frustration that he simply couldn't wait any longer. That tactic had resulted in some pretty sordid sex late night in the gun range a couple of months back. You were both turned on by weapons and excellent marksmanship. _Figures_.

You pulled into a parking lot and stop the car, before quickly running over to the other side so you could help Aaron before he hurts himself trying to get out by himself. Grasping his hand once more, you start to lead him down the pathway, your stomach flip-flopping nervously as you did.

Aaron can feel a light breeze blowing around and hear the swirl of leaves being carried around across the pavement. Your hand guides him along as he walks beside you, somehow knowing better than to joke anymore. There's a giddy energy that's settled between the two of you and he has an odd feeling that whatever this is – where ever you've brought him – it's important.

You lead him down the pathway and when you near your final destination, you stop him, turning to grab both of his hands and walking backwards slowly.

Aaron is careful to walk only where you lead him, subconsciously aware enough of his surroundings to know to be careful, as the two of you carefully take the last few steps, your hands guiding him. His heart rate picks up when you stop and gently lower your grasped hands, releasing his. He can feel his skin breaking out into goose bumps, an eerily peaceful quiet blanketing the two of you.

"Okay, you can take it off now."

Your hushed voice adds to his strange feeling as he lifts both arms, nimbly untying the knot at the back of his head and removing the cloth. He blinks as he takes it all in. The light of an approaching sunset, like spilled honey, coating the entire scene with its flaxen rays. He turns, steadily in place. You'd brought him down the walkway, to the center, the two of you standing in the middle of the small pink granite island surrounded by the black waters of the pool. The trees are bare at the moment, having shed all of their leaves for the season, but he could imagine them in full bloom – pink and full, enveloping the grounds with their sweet scent. At either corner, he can see the two arched granite moongates, adorning the garden with their presence.

He'd never been here when it was entirely unoccupied before. He does a full turn, taking it all in. As he comes back to face you, he can see you looking up at him, waiting and allowing him to truly bask in the moment – impress the memory of this into his spirit.

"You're probably wondering why I brought you here," you start, anxiously watching his expression, doing your best to focus and also pick up on any minute changes in Aaron as you do. At his short nod, you continue. "When I first came to DC, during my first month of training, I sort of stumbled upon it while trying to find a place to eat lunch one weekend. It was late summer and there were so many people here, but I managed to steal a bench after a few minutes and I just sat there and watched people. I think I sat there for hours, honestly. It was like, I sat down and I felt weirdly at peace, I guess?" Your voice gives away just how nervous you are, explaining this to him. How you're second guessing bringing him here in the first place. _It was probably stupid._ However, Aaron just nods again, so you carry on. "Then I just kept coming back, I guess. When you called me that day, after my interview, I was here. Me being here when I got that call from you – I suppose it felt like a sign of some sort. Not then, but later, when I let go of all the stuff with my father. It was like the universe had tried to tell me that this could be a place where I could be happy."

Aaron had listened raptly as you explained, a tight bubble growing in his chest as you spoke and explained how this place – _his place_ – meant a lot to you. Because it was also your place. He reaches for your hands once more, leaning down and grasping them warmly within his own before brushing his lips against your plush, waiting ones. Your eyes flutter shut as he kisses you gently, a subtle symphony of feeling coursing like energy, flowing from you to him.

"You wanted to share this with me?" he murmurs, drawing away barely an inch, his breathe mingling with yours.

"It's special to me and I wanted to share it with you because you're part of the reason why it's so very special." Your lips touch his as you explain and he resists the urge to echo them back to you. This place is indeed exceptionally special.

He kisses you again, doing his best to make sure this is a memory that he will be able to recall with complete ease. The garden, the breeze, the fading sunlight, and you.

The two of you slowly meander back to the garden and find a bench to sit on to take in the rest of the sunset. From the back gardens, Aaron can hear the beginnings of a crowd. You tell him that the two of you aren't expected for a while. That you can remain in your small oasis until the sun goes down.

"Thank you for sharing this with me." His thumb rubs circles on your hand as you sit side by side on the oak bench. Above you, the azure sky gives way to the oncoming dusk - amber and gold overlayed with rose and lilac, all interlaced together in delicate harmony.

You hum and tuck into his side as he brings an arm to wrap around your shoulders.

"Can _I_ share something with _you_?" he asks, unsure if now was the exact right time. The thought has been rattling in the back of his mind for some time now and this, you and him, here and now, he wants to dispel any ideas that might ever contradict this reality. The only reality that he wants.

You nod, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder as you do, lips hovering by the fabric of his shirt, before looking up to meet his eyes.

"I might be wrong about this, but I think you have this idea – _incorrect as it might be_ – that us being together is a direct product of Haley's absence."

You suck in a breath, not having expected him to have caught on to, or address this. Ever.

Aaron can see a slight tremble to your hands, clasped tightly in your lap. Your eyes wide as you stare at him, tethered to his, unable to look away if you tried.

"I want you to know, that you and me – I would've fallen for you no matter what. Whether or not Haley was around, whether or not she and I were still together, I would've fallen for you entirely. Regardless of anything." The confession isn't followed by guilt. Merely a sense of rightness creating a growing hum of warmth in his chest as he watches you.

You're unsure how to respond, blinking up at him to try and take it all in. "You're far too honorable for anything to have happened if you and Haley were still together." He would've never betrayed her like that. It went against his very nature.

He smiles slightly at your statement. You're not wrong either. "Maybe. But you should know, even _she_ saw it. How utterly in love with you I was. She saw it long before I ever did."

You lick your lips, your heart beating rapidly at everything he'd laid out. So plainly. As though it was just that simple. As though there could be no contradiction. As though there would be no universal karmic retribution sought for saying something so deeply and darkly and wholly truthful.

"I'm telling you this, because I never want you to doubt what we have. You are not a consolation prize or the understudy that's filling in." His other hand reaches out and grasps both of yours. Calloused palms to soft skin. Covering them in an embrace that felt so very intimate despite its innocence.

It's nearly sickening how well he knows how you work. What you _think_. Because being loved – at the right time by the right person in the right place – the serendipity of it all like a fluke – that's never been meant for you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering before pressing once more. "I am in love with you, sweetheart. Wholly, fully, completely in love with you. Only you."

You could feel the weight of his words. Aaron would have loved you no matter what. That was the gospel truth of the matter. You nod – trying to believe him – compelling the feeling of being loved by him to permeate through all of you. Entering your body, perfusing through your senses, penetrating your soul. Because if being loved by him was mere happenstance – a stroke of good luck accidentally bestowed upon you – you'll take it and run. Run before anyone could catch you with something so precious. Before it could be taken away.

The two of you sit on that bench until the sun goes down, before standing to walk towards the back lawn where your friends were waiting for you. Aaron allows you to lead him closer to the din – the voices and noise of the crowd getting louder and louder as you approach. He makes sure your hand is always in his as the two of you are bombarded by people – shouts of _Happy Birthday_ , drinks thrust into your hands, and a happy little boy rushing up to you both, excited as can be.

*------------*

Fate was an odd concept for him, someone so used to holding the right cards no matter who shuffled the deck. Fate implied that everything that happens – from the falling of a leaf to the birth of a child – was all predetermined by some unknown, invisible, _unquestionable_ higher power. It suggested that there was no purpose to anything he tried and failed to accomplish – the people who met death because he hadn't been quick enough to the draw, the killers who went free because he fell short in drawing the correct profile, friends who'd fallen by his side because he hadn't been able to cover them. Fate insinuated that his son was always destined to lose his mother, no matter how hard he tried to protect him from the leviathans that roamed the earth. Fate was his one constant adversary through it all.

Perhaps it spoke to the double-sided nature of a true foe, because when it came to you, Fate was his one true friend. His solace against the persistent fear that he might lose you. Worse still, never have found you at all. Fate brought you to him, your presence blessed by providence itself. Had it been left to him – _weak, fallible, human, him_ – there was a chance that it might not have worked out.

When it came to you – only you – he had to trust that Fate had brought you to him, and always would.


	50. House of Cards

The most painful goodbyes are the ones left unsaid.

Officially the two of you were broken up.

Unofficially, your dresses were still hung up in your side of the closet. Smiling photographs of you, Aaron, and Jack still adorned the house. The scent of the spring meadow laundry detergent you bought still permeates his senses anytime he puts on fresh clothes. You persist in every nook and cranny of his life – in your handwritten grocery list on the fridge that he hasn't the heart to toss away, in the sass and eyerolls he gets from Jack to the heartwrenchingly sweet way he insists on being kissed good night exactly how you do it – once on the forehead, pause, then another for the long haul of the night, and in the way Aaron's mind wanders, unwantingly, to you and always you – thinking about you, wondering if you're alright, hoping to see you again soon.

That night when he'd arrived back home with Dave in tow, he'd found out from Jack that you'd visited him during lunch. You'd brought food for the two of you and you'd sat and ate with him and his friends. You'd watched him play before pulling him aside quickly and telling him that you'd be away for a while. Explaining that it would be hard for you to talk to him, but that you'd see him as soon as you were back. Aaron could imagine you'd also told Jack that you loved him, holding him close to you. It filled him with a small amount of confidence, knowing that you'd gone to see Jack and promised that you'd see him as soon as you were done with your assignment. It led credence to Rossi's assertion that whatever was going on had nothing to do with you and Aaron and everything to do with whatever you were doing with Easter for the project.

However, despite inherently knowing that it had been something else, being home without you – in the aftermath of having signed what had felt like his second set of divorce papers – wasn't the easiest of tasks. Two days after, he'd come home to the monthly crate of champagne that you'd never quite bothered to dissuade Cedric Kensington from sending your way. It was an agonizing reminder – _you had not always been his_. He'd ended up calling Prentiss and asking if she'd take it off of his hands, and she of course had jumped at the opportunity. She'd arrived in a whirlwind, greeting Jack with a quick kiss to the cheek and asking Aaron when he expected you back home. He was forced to simply shrug and say you hadn't said when you'd be available once more, deciding it was best to keep the full extent of what had transpired to himself and Dave, at least until they were able to learn more.

At various points during the days following, he debated making his way to McKinney's office. He took the elevator all the way up before talking himself out of it. You wouldn't appreciate interference with your professional life and this was hardly a qualifying emergency. On top of which, he would only be operating in the capacity of your partner. Which, in all technicality and as far as the Bureau was concerned, he no longer even was. He had absolutely no professional reasons to inquire about your whereabouts and the realization of it all – knowing exactly how tied his hands are – has him feeling distressingly unanchored.

You torment him. You are the plague that runs through him. Every unoccupied minute, you're at the forefront. That final interaction with you plays on a loop in his mind. He knows that something had happened, that something was wrong. Your entire demeanor had been distraught and pulled taut at the edges, your body sending warning signals to him despite your inability to voice your hardships. It plays over and over again in his mind's eye. How your own weight had seemed far too much to bear upon your frame. How the mere act of standing up had been a Herculean effort of its own. How you had flinched, cowering and shielding yourself from him when he'd reached out – as though his touch might cause you harm.

He knows now that he should've said something. Done something. He'd known. He had known that there was something the matter and despite knowing that so absolutely, he had elected to adhere to the professional boundaries the two of you had, allowing it to overrule his innate gut instinct that something was incredibly wrong.

The team had completed two cases in the span of a week and a half, during which it had been radio silence from you. No calls. No texts. At this point, he'd settle for a carrier pigeon.

Jack asked about you, however given that Aaron didn't have much to share, he was only able to reassure his son that you were alright (he hoped) and that you'd be home very soon.

*------------*

It was closing in on twelve days since Aaron had last seen or heard from you. The team was seated in the conference room as Garcia went through the list of consults that had been piling up. The team tried to stay on top of those in between active in-person cases, however things had fallen off with the last minute shuffle when Garcia had been suspended. She'd come back and had decided to take charge, using her downtime to reorganize and allocate everyone's time to each consult, ensuring that each case would have two pairs of eyes looking over it.

She was flipping through the cases one by one on the screen and everyone was volunteering to take whichever struck their interest. Aaron would look over all of them at the end, so he was paying close attention to each one as Garcia went through the case summaries.

As she transitions from a case in North Dakota to another in Arkansas, a loud alert appears on the screen along with everyone's work phones. A year ago, the Bureau had invested in the same alert system that many state and city governments used to send out community alerts. It helped get mass messages through quickly and prioritized any key threats. Aaron pulls out his own phone that is vibrating incessantly, to a message reading **_*TERROR ALERT: PHILADELPHIA, ONE BOMB CONFIRMED*_** on the screen.

Everyone looks up at him, and he's ready to dismiss it, turn focus back to the task at hand. The team hasn't been asked to weigh in and there are agents and local law enforcement in Philadelphia who will handle it. There's another loud alert, however, this time only on Garcia's computer, which is connected to the large screen. Her brow furrows as she turns away from him and to her computer, her fingers moving quickly as she investigates the reason behind the second alert.

Aaron follows her progress on the big screen, and sees her open a program with the entire team's internal Bureau profile. There's a red alert notification next to your name, which she clicks on. His heartrate picks up immediately as he watches with rapt attention. He can feel everyone else in the room tense, their eyes following the screen as well. It's quiet, the only sound coming from Garcia's computer running, the fans spinning loudly. There's a lag while the program appears to run and then he sees it automatically go to the newly opened case file for the Philadelphia terror case.

A video pops up on the screen. It appears to be from an internal security camera. A jazz club, from the looks of it. There's a singer on a stage and tables turned to face it. Couples are sat at each of the table. The camera pans slowly, giving a full view of the restaurant as all attention is towards the stage.

"Is that – ?"

Aaron starts at JJ's voice, having seen what she'd seen. There you were, seated at a table, dressed like you were out for a date. Your hair is done nicely, there's a jacket draped over your shoulders. You look better. Far better than the last time he'd seen you. He recognizes Easter sitting next to you, his arm casually thrown around your chair as you lean into his side slightly. Your faces are turned towards one another, a small smile on yours as the two of you whisper something to one another. Aaron looks up at Reid, who shakes his head. He can't make out what you're saying.

The camera keeps panning, and as you leave the frame, Aaron is harshly reminded of which case this video is tied to. It pans over the rest of the restaurant. Slowly. Silently. He can feel a growing tension in his body as his eyes stay firm on the screen. Daring it to confirm what he already fears. His breath starts to come in bursts as the camera pans to the end before turning once more, turning back towards where you'd been seated. Slowly. Too slowly. He needs to see you again. He needs to see your face again. His chest starts to constrict at the mounting realization of what's about to happen.

The camera continues to turn. He sees the singer. The other customers. There's a waiter carrying a tray full of drinks. Almost there. Almost back to you.

The screen goes black.

*------------*

Rossi and Morgan watch Hotch in his office as he takes yet another call, trying to get in touch with the field agent in charge of the Philadelphia case for what felt like the tenth time. He'd already spoken to the man once and had been told that they hadn't started excavation yet and it was impossible to tell how many bodies were buried underneath the rubble that hadn't been touched yet. All he had learned was that you weren't amongst the five individuals in the hospital.

Rossi had had to talk Hotch out of storming to Philadelphia himself. He couldn't do anything to help. On the off chance he did find you and you were alright, he'd get in the way of your assignment and risk blowing your cover. Him barging in wasn't the right call.

The mood within the team had ranged from tense to downright hysterics. Derek had had to take Penelope into another room with JJ following him. She'd been inconsolable, thinking back to the last interaction she'd had with you. Derek hadn't been able to fully comfort her and had left her with JJ so he could go figure out what to do next with Hotch.

He'd walked past the conference room where Prentiss was still sat with Reid. She'd been oddly quiet ever since and he knew she felt the same guilt he did. They'd both given you the cold shoulder when you'd appeared last time, and it had only been afterwards that they'd learned that it had been to bring over Penelope's reinstatement paperwork. That day, he'd caught a glimpse of you as you'd walked away towards the elevators and he couldn't help but notice that there was something off with the way you were carrying yourself. He knows how you move and it looked like you were compensating for something.

Hours pass as the team tries to distract themselves with the consults in lieu of having nothing better to do. Penelope had told Hotch that she had put out alerts for everything related to you - the video had been caught by her facial recognition software. She'd put out an alert for any mention of you, for your phone turning on, for Easter's phone turning on. Everything and anything she could think of. He'd thanked her robotically and Derek could tell what he was doing. He needed to distance himself if he was going to make it.

So Derek sat there with Rossi. Sat and waited as Hotch watched the phone, willing it to ring with any news of you.

*------------*

Aaron woke up from a fitful sleep to the sound of his phone dinging. Groggily, he goes to pick it up and sees Morgan's name on the screen followed by a message.

**_Meet at Rossi's ASAP._ **

His brow furrows as he looks at the time. It was only six in the morning, so for Morgan to be asking to meet at Dave's, it could only mean one thing. It had something to do with you.

He calls Mrs. Avery as he gets dressed, asking her if she could please come a little earlier to watch Jack. Something in his voice must've convinced her of the urgency of his need, and she's quick to agree. Thinking ahead, Aaron asks that she pack for a few days, just in case.

He doesn't bother with waking Jack up. He hadn't been able to hide his inner turmoil from his son at dinner the night prior, and Jack had picked up on the fact that something wasn't quite right. Aaron had been forced to lie to him and assure him that it was nothing. He didn't want to say anything to Jack. Not yet when nothing was confirmed.

There's this part of him that's convinced you're invincible. That nothing could possibly touch you. That part refuses to believe any of this is real. He's seen you take down grown men twice your size. He's seen you be held at gunpoint and still come out unscathed. Deep down, he knows that he's in denial of some sort. Refusing to believe in the possibility that you could be – .

He's felt the worried eyes of the entire team on him, and yet he knows that they're all on the same page as him. Nothing was confirmed. None of them will voice the awful prospect that maybe you hadn't gotten away. That maybe you're lying there, buried under bricks and concrete. That you're gone. That you're d–

Aaron won't.

He owes Jack that. He owes his son that.

His son does not deserve to lose another mother.

So, Aaron won't. As far as he is concerned, you are fine and you will be home soon, just as you promised Jack before you left. You will come home and the three of you will wake up together the next morning. He will kiss you good morning even as you squirm against him and beg for another five minutes, sleepily kissing him back despite that. You'll go downstairs and make pancakes and Aaron will swipe a blueberry as you swat his hand away. Jack will hoist himself up on the counter – another bad habit he's picked up from you – and he'll watch the cartoons playing on the living room television while ensuring that there are exactly the right number of blueberries in his pancakes. At some point, Aaron will put on one of the older records and the three of you will badly sing along to Elvis. You'll be back and the house will be full – of voices and music, yours and Jack's laughter, and that bright and bubbly feeling of being vibrantly alive. The feeling he only ever has around you.

*------------*

Aaron arrives at Rossi's place, pulling into the driveway behind Prentiss. Judging by the cars, it appeared most – if not all – of the team was already there. Reid still refused to drive so someone must've picked him up on the way. He makes a mental note to have you talk to Reid about the driving thing, since you'd had to get over that fear after your accident as well. He knew that had been a process.

Dave is quick to let him in upon his knock, leading him to the large living room where everyone is assembled. It appeared Garcia had set herself up at the dining table and she had a slew of machines running side by side.

"What's going on?" Aaron asks, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee that JJ hands him.

"We were waiting for you to get here. Garcia has something," Morgan answers, nodding back towards Garcia, who on second glance, looked like she hadn't slept whatsoever. Aaron felt for her and he nods, imploring her to take the lead.

"Sir, you might remember, back when Y/N was working with me, I taught her how to do a few things. We worked together a lot and I had her practice, on a private server," she explains hesitantly, as though trying to gauge his reaction before she went on. He knew the team was on edge and they're all waiting for him to break down. Frankly, he's surprised himself by how much he'd held it together, but knows that he's still operating from a place of refusal. Refusal to believe reality.

He nods, so she continues. "A couple hours ago, an email appeared in my private server. From me."

"From you?" His eyebrows rise up in question.

"Yes sir. The only other person who's ever been inside this server besides myself, is Y/N. She's the only one with access. The email wasn't actually sent today. It was sent a couple of weeks ago, but it appeared today, as if someone had stopped hiding it."

"That's possible?" Prentiss asks, her face mirroring Aaron's in confusion.

"Yes. Essentially it was being suppressed by a program that's on a timed manual cycle. As long as someone logged in and ran the action to suppress, the email stayed hidden. Once no one was running the job, the email was no longer hidden and I could see it."

"What's in the email?" Aaron asks, a sense of foreboding creeping in. If you had indeed set it up, it meant that you'd missed your last check-in to suppress the email.

"It's a backdoor, sir. Into the Project Atlantis server. Y/N set it up so that it looks like she's the one entering and looking around at the files and not me, so no alarms will go off."

"She left a backdoor open on a timed cycle in case she didn't check-in, to alert us. We have to assume that it's a signal for us to intervene." Aaron turns, oddly heartened by Morgan's assertion, and nods along. You didn't do things like this without innate purpose.

"What've you found so far?" he asks, moving to stand and walk over to Garcia's side.

She pivots the screen so he can see and also moves to project it onto the large television screen in the center of the living room. "Not much yet, there's far too much material to go through. In summary, I've gathered that Project Atlantis was geared towards keeping ex NATO spooks safe - CIA, Interpol, MI6, those kinds. They'd get new covers and would be safe to resume a normal civilian life. Sort of like witness protection for retired spies. A few years ago, every few months some of them started to go missing. Y/N was part of the task force trying to figure out who was leaking the names and locations and trying to figure out who is going after them. I'm printing out all the files for the good doctor to read through."

Aaron nods, following along. It would figure that this would be the sort of assignment you're on. From the sound of it, you're on a witch hunt. There's a leak that you're trying to plug.

"That's good work, thank you Garcia."

"Of course, sir. I also found something else while I was poking around in the Atlantis servers. There's a partitioned section that I don't think Y/N was ever in. It appears to be someone's private server within the server."

"Likely Easter's," Rossi injects, his face still set grimly.

"Yes sir. Once I break into that, we might know some more. Maybe more than Y/N knew, if he wasn't forthcoming about everything with her."

"If they suspected a leak, neither one of them would fully trust the other," Prentiss speculated from her spot perched on the arm of the sofa, mug of coffee precariously balanced beside her.

"There's a chance they thought each other _was_ the leak," Reid postulates, tipping back in the chair he's seated in, in a manner entirely reminiscent of you.

Aaron agrees with them both, before considering the graver implications of you sending this to Garcia's private server. "Since Y/N sent this to the private server, we have to assume she thinks she and the team are being watched in some capacity. That there is someone on the inside of the Bureau who could also be the mole."

The team looks at him, their faces sober as everyone realizes that, as of now, they're operating outside the confines of the Bureau. None of this is sanctioned. All of it is grounds to be fired or charged.

"None of you have to – "

"Hotch, none of us are going anywhere," Morgan cuts him off, already knowing where he was going. "Y/N doesn't just matter to you. Right now, we don't know where she is, but we know that she left something for us for a reason. We're going to follow through on that. She'd do it for any one of us."

Aaron can only nod as he looks around the room at the rest of them agreeing with Morgan. They were all just as much your family as he was.

"I'm in!" Garcia's excited voice breaks the somber camaraderie of the room, drawing everyone's attention back to the screen as Reid gets up to grab the papers being spit out by the printer.

They watch as she sifts through the files, quickly identifying most as duplicates of the Atlantis server, before coming across a larger folder with videos. Scrolling through, the thumbnail images appear to be brightly lit training videos. He can make out images of you and Easter sparring together as she moves through the files.

The thumbnail at the end catches his eye, however. It is darker than the rest, and Aaron is quick to ask Garcia to open that one.

"It looks like it was uploaded about two weeks ago," Garcia says, working to open the video and project it onto the television. Aaron quickly does the math in his head – two weeks prior would put it right before he last saw you. The team moves to the main area, with only Garcia and Reid remaining at the dining table.

Garcia hits play on the video and a darkened room becomes visible. The hair on the back of his neck stands on edge almost immediately.

"What is this, a snuff film?" Dave questions, leaning further towards the screen, his brows raised in alarm.

Prentiss scoffs, her eyes full of worry. "Wouldn't put it past him. He was always a bit of a weirdo when it came to that stuff."

"You speaking from personal experience?" Morgan looks at her, his eyebrows raised, arms crossed across his chest.

"Gross, never," she responds, rolling her eyes.

Aaron remains turned towards the screen. There's a low hanging yellow light above a desk where a man stands and in the center of the room, tied to a chair, is a horrifyingly familiar figure.

"Please tell me that isn't – " Garcia's voice trembles as she voices what was coursing through all of their minds.

It was _you_.


	51. Eye of a Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting Chapters 51 and 52 at the same time. Make sure you read them in order. And if you haven’t read 50 (posted yesterday) definitely read that first.

It's a sluggishly slow progression towards consciousness as you battle a heavy head and dazed mind, both serving only to deter coherent thought. Your awareness is comprised only of sensation – a cold and dark room, hard chair, your mouth was dry. As you attempt to move, you come to realize that your wrists are bound behind your back and your ankles are tied to the legs of a chair, while the same rough material was corded around your torso, keeping you tied and upright in the chair. What should have been a terrifying realization, was dulled by the presence of some drug you'd been injected with. It would account for all of the symptoms you're experiencing, especially how your mouth felt like it could compete with the Sahara for driest places known to man.

Your mind reels, attempting to piece together how you had come to be in your current predicament. You'd been awaiting Easter at your agreed upon spot for your check-in. You'd stood with your back to the wall, aware of your surroundings. It had been a complete ambush, a gun from nowhere pressed to the side of your head, three large men, all armed, as they forced you into an alley way. They'd been able to get the jump on you as you were severely outnumbered. The last thing you can recall with any degree of clarity is the sharp sting of a needle, pressed to the side of your neck. It would explain quite a bit about how you're feeling at the moment.

Blinking slowly, carefully, you allow your sensitive eyes to adjust to the dim yellow lighting of the room. Keeping your head tilted downwards still, you take in the concrete grey flooring and walls. You focus on taking in as much as you can without alerting your captors to the fact that you're awake. That would immediately tip the scales in their favor.

There is a stale smell lingering in the room, as though from a lack of use. Dust is collecting in the crevices. It's not cared for. Likely a spare room or basement. There are no windows as far as you're able to tell. Behind you, there is a clock that ticks, the sound of it echoing loudly in the quiet of the room.

_How long had you been there?_

Cautiously lifting your head, you appraise the room you're in. There, in front of you about three feet away, is a table with what looked like various weapons on it. From your position, you can make out knives, a baseball bat, what appears to be a taser, and what could be a fire poker.

You had to get out.

Your bindings have no give, you quickly learn. You couldn't wriggle out of them if you tried.

If you move quickly, you could inch your way towards the table. You might be able to bend down and grab one of the knives with your mouth and use it – _somehow_ – to cut the rope or at least loosen it enough to be able to escape. After you've accomplished that, you'd have to get out of wherever you were being held.

Figuring out why you'd been taken in the first place would have to wait.

You clench, tensing your body and using the leverage of your feet pressed to the floor to jump up and forward in the chair, attempting to drag it forward with you, in the direction of the table. It moves about an inch or two.

With a frustrated sigh, you tense once more, preparing to repeat the action. Just as the balls of your feet have pressed into the ground, there's a clicking sound from behind you and you can hear the door opening. You freeze in place. You should've known they were watching.

Heavy footsteps reverberate against the concrete flooring while you refuse to turn around. Let them come and face you themselves.

"Good, you're awake." The deep voice carries with it a shot of dread that you hadn't quite felt yet since you'd awoken. It cuts through the dullness of feeling and thought, jumpstarting the dormant panic into full gear.

A large man with dark hair and crystal light eyes stands before you, blocking your pathway towards the table you had been inching your way towards. He's dressed casually in dark clothing, there's a scar running down his neck. In his hands is a gun, held almost casually, as though it were merely an afterthought. As though he's quite confident in his ability to over power you without it.

You watch apprehensively, body tensed up, as he leans one hip against the table, perching on it lightly. His cold, steely eyes pore into you, running over your body and taking in your state. His gaze feels predatory as it runs over you in the worst of ways, causing a chill to run down your spine. He watches you as though you're prey and he's a hunter – the kind that collects trophies to hang up above the mantle. He lingers on your eyes, and you can tell he's checking to see if you're still drugged or if you were fully capable now.

You remain quiet, waiting for him to speak first, the two of you locked in and staring at one another. You don't know why you're here, why they took you. You surely don't recognize him. Behind him, you can see a dark glass pane that you hadn't noticed before, beyond which you assume his partners wait, watching both you and him.

"I am going to ask you questions," he says evenly, breaking the silence once more, his eyes boring into yours. "Every time you don't answer or you lie to me, you will regret it. Am I clear?" His voice, low and dark, matches the tone of the room. It's not exactly threatening, more clinical in a way. It's like he's playing a part, doing a job. Like you're his last patient of the day and he's eager to get home early and catch the game. You want to say his heart isn't quite in it, but that wasn't right either. It's more so that he has better things to do than waste his time with you, and yet here is.

You don't acknowledge or answer his question asking if you'd understood, and you can tell he doesn't like to be ignored. His brow furrows ever so slightly, nostrils flaring as he mutters low under his breath, turning and placing the gun on the table behind him. He sets it down and then turns back towards you and you can see he'd grabbed something from the table. Brass knuckles by the looks of it, as he slides them on, flexing his large muscular hands as he does. It's meant to intimidate you, scare you. It does its job.

You take a deep breath, still watching him quietly as you mentally reassure yourself that it would all be alright. That Clyde would of course be looking for you. He'd know you were missing when you hadn't been there waiting for him. He would find you and rescue you from whatever this was. Until then, you had only one job: survival. They wouldn't break you.

He strides forward until he's right up against you, his knees brushing against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, feel the coarse denim of his jeans against your bare knees. The dress that you'd been wearing undercover is bunched up underneath your thighs.

You look up at him defiantly as he stands before you in silence, as though still waiting for you to speak. You wouldn't. You needed to know how much they knew first. He asks for your name first and you provide him with the fake name on the ID in your bag. That earns you a quick, sharp jab to the side that has you keeling over and grunting in pain as the hard metal ridges of the brass knuckles connects with your ribcage. You try to absorb the hit, try to remember everything you've learned from sparring with both Derek and Clyde. Try to stifle your pained groan.

You take a breath and look back at him, ignoring the bruised and burning pain in your side. If you're not mistaken, there's a chance he just cracked a rib.

_They know who you are._

The realization causes your panicked brain to go into overdrive as you sift through who could possibly want to use you to get to any information. What they would do with it.

He asks next about Project Atlantis. He asks who else has access to the list. Who else is on the list. How to gain access to it.

Every lie you tell, every time you stay silent, he rewards you with another hit. Another part of your body bruised and broken as he goes through a litany of questions, marking you up as he goes. The tears slip unwanted. The cries come out despite any attempt to not give him the satisfaction.

_Where the hell was Clyde?!_

Each time, you force yourself to look back at him. To let him know that he hasn't beat you. To let him know that it wouldn't be so easy. To challenge him to do worse.

He does.

Your body becomes a work of art, painted with the red of your blood, the deep purple bruising of your skin. The colors meld and blend together with the salt of your tears.

It hurts to breathe. He's bruised a couple of ribs and shallow breaths are all you can manage through the excruciating pain of drawing a single breath in properly. If he doesn't stop soon, you'll start to hyperventilate. You can't do that. You can't let him win that way. You blink through the tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn't stop those if you tried. It hurts. It all hurts too much.

There is no escape from the constant barrage of questions and from the assault that follows. In the back of your mind there lingers a silent, crying hope that Clyde is out there looking for you but that is it. Otherwise it's all you can do to remain present and conscious to resist simply giving him what he wants in exchange for a respite.

After a certain point, the pain wasn't even really pain anymore. It was as though your body knew, that in order to survive, it had to shield you from feeling the full thrust of all that he had inflicted on you. It knew that if you were to stand a chance, you had to not feel it. The numbness settles in through a haze as your mind goes cloudy once more. You're barely meeting his eyes anymore, try as you might. Your body strains and struggles to stay aware. In the brief moments of respite that he offers you, as he changes from the brass knuckles to the poker, you can't even bring it in yourself to fear what's coming next.

Your mind flits to Aaron. The last time you'd seen him, as you kissed him goodbye and walked out to the waiting cab. He wouldn't know to worry. He'd think you were busy with work. He'd think that you'd return his calls soon enough. He'd think you were alright.

Thinking of him and Jack is the only thing that has you even trying to lift your head once more. Keeps you coming back each time. Keeps you looking your captor in the eye.

You had to make it through. You had to keep bouncing back. You had to endure and persist.

For them.

For him.

Not again.

They can't go through that again.

It's that thought that has you lifting your head, meeting those stony grey eyes once more.

*------------*

_Emily would want the Birkins._

That was the first coherent thought that came to mind when you'd become conscious once more. He'd stopped once you'd become unresponsive.

Thoughts of escaping had long since abandoned you. It would be pointless. You were entirely unmatched. Even if you could defeat them, you'd first have to stand, and you're not entirely sure that's a feat you're capable of any longer. Keeping your eyes open was far too difficult a task on its own.

Your mind behaves oddly. Thoughts fleetingly temporary and confused as you contend with the notion that you might not escape. That you might die here.

_Aaron would have to pick an outfit for the funeral. He'd have to go to your closet and pick out something to wear for you to be buried in._

_Jack would need a new suit._

_The bike – that should go to John._

_The house was Aaron's._

_The rest was Jack's._

_There was no one else._

_Would he get a body? Or would he bury an empty coffin with your name on the headstone?_

_If he knew what you were thinking – how you were thinking – he'd be furious._

You're next woken with a jolt as two pairs of uncaring and callous hands work together to lift you up. You thrash and scream, your voice horrifically hoarse as you feel them place you down on the table you'd noticed off to the side earlier. Thick, rough, leather restraints bind you down and hold you to the table.

You can't move. Try as you might, you can't get out.

He asks you again, giving you a final chance. Your stomach coils in fear and panic as tears well in your eyes and stream down your cheeks anew.

You beg them to not do this. You beg them to let you go. _I have a son, please. I have son! Please let me go. Please don’t –_

You know what's coming next.

His frosty, pale eyes are the last thing you see before a coarse rag covers your face. You prepare yourself. Remind yourself that you won't die. Not like this.

_You'll be alright. You'll be alright. You'll be al –_

The first onslaught of harsh, cold water beating down on your head has the force of a current rippling through your veins.

You can't breathe.

There's a warbled scream that shouts out and it takes you far too long to realize it was your own.

Your heart is beating faster than ever as the unrelenting assault continues. Blood pounding in your head as you thrash about as much as possible.

Frigid water fills your nose, your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

Your fingers claw at the table, catching splinters of wood in the nailbed.

Your head feels full as though it's floating in the ocean during a storm.

Gasping and screaming when you could manage it, lungs drowning underneath the punishing weight as it rained down upon you, your body fighting against the riptide.

It went on and it went on.

Unrelenting.

Neverending.

Right at the precipice – when your screams were silent, your limbs motionless, the cruel waves kept drowning you underneath the tide – right as you became certain of one thing and one thing only: _this was the end_. Just as you arrived at that conclusion – it all went away. Dissipated into thin air.

_You were floating into a fog, light as could be._

_The dulcet tones of singing children at Jack's spring recital, as he waves at you from the stage._

_The team at Karaoke night, drunk as can be, singing out of sync._

_The rooftop in Ibiza, legs dangling as you sat between John and Julian, a bottle passed between the three of you._

_Ricky picking you up at midnight, watching the sun rise over the sea with the boys huddled around you._

_Aaron in the kitchen, his beautiful voice humming along to the music._

_Aaron on the plane next to you, his hand held tightly in yours._

_Aaron peacefully asleep beside you, his chest rising and falling, the richness of his warmth enveloping you entirely._

His face was the last thing you saw.


	52. We All Fall Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting Chapters 51 and 52 at the same time. Make sure you read them in order. And if you haven’t read 50 (posted yesterday) definitely read that first.

Aaron's hands shake and tremble as he flushes the toilet, the evidence of him emptying his stomach swirling down into the sewers.

He's clammy and there's a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he pushes up off of the porcelain and into a seated position, before leveraging the wall behind him to force himself up to his feet. He reaches the sink, gripping tightly onto the edge, knuckles whitening with the force of his hold.

He can't bear to look at his own reflection in the mirror. He can't bear to see his face, stricken with fear and horror and fury at everything he'd just seen you suffer. His mind would not abide that.

He couldn't.

Your screams echo in his brain on a loop. How you begged them to stop. How you screamed at them to relent. How you pleaded with them, telling them that you had a child. A child who was waiting for you to return home to him.

You didn't break though. Not once did you bargain away what they were after. You stayed strong through it all.

_How?_

The door opens and there's a hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. A soft voice cooing at him and comforting him. He can't be comforted. Not after that.

_How could he not have known this happened?_

_How could you not have told him about this?_

You had stood there in his office after this. You had stood there right in front of him. You had handed him Garcia's reinstatement papers only a day or so after all of that.

The question that he can't rid himself of is _how_.

How and how and how, on repeat, chanting and questioning and mocking him.

How could you have stood there and not told him? How had you not just crumpled under the weight of it all?

Aaron had seen you. He'd stood inches from you after this and he'd seen you and he had _known._ He had. He'd known that something was wrong in his bones, but despite that, this wasn't something he could have ever imagined.

The screaming lingers in his mind, melding itself into his membrane. He won't be rid of it. It will be the fuel for every nightmare for years to come.

He can't breathe.

_Why had he not stopped you from leaving?_ When he had felt so strongly that something wasn't right. Why hadn't he stopped you? Why hadn't he clung to you, grabbed you, tucked you away somewhere safe?

How could he have let you walk away?

_How had he failed so entirely, to keep you safe?_

He's led out of the bathroom.

Someone hands him a glass of water. His hand still shakes as he holds it.

His body collapses into the couch. His eyes closing momentarily, unable to stay open.

They open, the light in the room mocking him with its brilliance.

They were all looking at him and it was too much. All of their horrified faces were too much. All of their tormented silence was too much.

They had all seen what he had. They had seen you suffer. Your screams were etched into their minds too.

The video is paused on the screen still. It's not over.

He can't do this. He can't watch more.

He has to.

The team all looks to him, but Aaron looks to Dave and then Morgan. He can't do this. He can't make the call.

At Dave's nod, Garcia resumes the video with a trembling hand, her other hand held tightly in JJ's.

They'd tied you to the chair once more and left, your frail body hanging against the bindings. At Dave's instruction, Garcia moves the video forward until there is movement again. Aaron watches as the minutes fast forward, the orange lighting in the room casting you in shadow.

It resumes when someone enters, a different man, shorter than the other. He roughly jolts you awake, hoisting you up by your arms, and hooking you into a rig on the ceiling, pulling your body upright. Your feet skim the ground as you try to steady yourself.

You meet the man's eye and only that gives Aaron some hope. You're still putting up a fight. You haven't given up.

"Tell me, how are Jack and Aaron doing?" His voice is menacing, his hand far too familiar against your waist.

Aaron can feel your internal recoil as he turns to meet Dave's eye. If this preceded the last time he'd seen you, then it explained everything. You had been trying to put distance between yourself and Jack and Aaron. Trying to protect them in any manner available to you. It made sense – it was exactly what he would have done. What he _had_ done, by placing Haley and Jack in Witness Protection. You'd done the next best thing available to you. Eliminate any official ties to him.

The man moves, his mouth near your ear, and you flinch ever so slightly. "You know, we've got Easter too. Boy has he been talking. He told me something really interesting about you. You want to know what he said?"

You close your eyes, the realization that Easter was captured as well, killing any hope you must have had of being rescued. Of it ending.

"He told me you have a hard time _keeping_ them. That you lost one." His hand curves around your waist, to the front of your stomach.

All air leaves him as the realization of what the man had just said to you sinks in. _You'd lost_ –

"You want me to help?" the man asks, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "Make sure this time, it _sticks_?"

There's a hitched gasp from somewhere beside him, but Aaron can't look to see who it was. Through the watery film of his tears, he can only watch you. His eyes can't leave you.

He sees you rally the final remnants of fight left in you as you turn sharply, your body swaying from the force. "You really think you're the first man to promise me _that_?" you spat, your face contorted with rage, eyes blazing with renewed fury.

Aaron meets Morgan's gaze, the question burning in his eyes. Despite that, Aaron knows. He knows exactly what you had meant and who it had been in reference to. Morgan's lips are pressed tightly together and he offers Aaron a short nod of confirmation. Aaron _knows_. It appeared he would never be rid of reasons to despise the ground Matthew van Doren walked on.

There is a battle of wills between you and the man, as you stare at one another. The two of you look and watch one another as you dangle, swaying slightly, feet still trying to latch onto the flooring, his hand still on your waist as he tilts backwards from you ever so slightly.

The man looks from you to a space behind you and only a few seconds later, the door to the room opens. There, standing in the doorway, looking right as rain, is _Clyde Easter_.

Your eyes widen when you see him. He strides in with full authority and gestures to the other man, who leaves at his behest.

A collective wave of shock runs through, bridging the gap between you on the screen and the rest of them in Rossi's living room.

"This was _Easter_?!" Morgan's bellowing voice pulsates through the room, the full force of his outrage turned towards Prentiss for an explanation of some sort. Some reason as to why you were tied to the ceiling on that screen.

Emily's lips are parted, aghast. Shakily, she nods. "I – I'd heard rumors. He tests agents who have never been undercover prior to working with him. See if they'll break. But, that's all I thought they were. Rumors. Just rumors…" Her voice trails off, hand raised up to cover her mouth in shock. She can't look at any of them, her eyes still fixated on you as Easter helps you out of the bindings.

You collapse into the chair, a trembling mess of sobs as the reality of your situation catches up with you, and Aaron wants nothing more than to leap into that screen and pummel Easter to dust, kill him with his bare hands, for doing this to you. For putting you through all that in the name of some grotesque _test_.

His hands shake with unbridled madness as he watches Easter try and fail to sooth you, comfort you, hold you the way you needed to be held.

Aaron only sees red.

He only sees the man who had thrust this brutality upon you, trying to make up for it by running his hands down your arms in some conciliatory attempt at making you feel better.

_HOW DARE HE FUCKING TOUCH YOU?!_

They all wait and watch as you come down. Aaron can make out how red and raw the skin around your wrists is as you rub at it to quell the ache.

His own hands tremble once more as he watches the quiver in your lip. How broken you look, fallen apart on that chair, held up only due to Easter's hands holding you upright.

You say something that they can't make out, and they all at once turn to Reid as Garcia hits pause. There's a tense silence as he swallows, before looking at Aaron to answer. "She said that Easter was the only one who'd known about the baby. She asked how he could tell them about it." His voice shakes.

Morgan nods at Garcia to play the video again.

Aaron can't.

The _baby_.

_Your_ baby.

_His_ baby.

Easter had known and he'd used it against you.

"Everything is fair game, you need to know that. Be prepared for it. You can't have attachments. You can't have weaknesses."

You can only manage to stare blankly at Easter as he's knelt beside the chair. Anything else would be far too much for you.

They watch as Easter helps you to stand and tells you that there's a medic waiting to tend to you. You nod, your face impassive. Blank. It's as though you'd shut down. You head towards the door.

"Hey, wait." You stop at his voice, your hand on the doorknob. "Why haven't you told Hotchner yet?" Easter asks, his brow furrowed in question as he looks at you.

There's a pause in which Aaron holds his breath, his eyes locked onto you in that screen. Wishing he could appear beside you. Hold you. Tell you that you didn't owe that bastard any answers.

"When was I supposed to do that? When I was taking the case away from him, or when I was suspending Garcia?" Your voice is firm as you answer him. Hoarse and mangled, yet unwavering.

Easter looks at you still. Looks at you as though he doesn't quite believe you.

You release an unsteady breath, your hand turning the doorknob, before you turn back around to him once more.

"Because telling _him_ makes it real."

*------------*

Aaron had been sitting in Rossi's backyard since the video concluded. Prentiss, Morgan, and Dave had all checked up on him, but he just wanted to be alone. He knew he wasn't helping. He didn't know what to do.

He begins by thinking through the timeline of everything that had happened. When the team had stumbled upon the Project Atlantis files, you'd come back. Based on that conversation with Easter, he knew that the miscarriage had happened at some point before that. Likely right before. He knew you well enough to know that that wasn't something you'd want to tell him over the phone. You'd wait. You'd been waiting to tell him when you came back that weekend the three of you had plans to attend the ballet. Plans which had been upended when Garcia broke into the files.

Then you'd reappeared early and been forced to suspend Garcia. You'd gone up against McKinney, putting your own job down on the line in the process. He'd said goodbye to you at the door – it was the last time he'd kissed you before waving goodbye to you in the cab.

You'd lost your child. That's the point he keeps coming back to. He could only imagine the pain losing the child had caused you. How much you _wanted_ that. You'd suffered through it alone, without him at your side as he should've been. You'd shouldered the burden of that grief fully upon your shoulders, when he should've been there to help carry the weight. He should've been there. It was both of yours to bear.

A week afterwards, you'd reappeared looking worse for wear, with Garcia's reinstatement papers in hand. He had to imagine that Clyde had kidnapped and tortured you sometime in between your two visits. It's what made most sense, based on how you'd behaved that last time and the upload date on the video.

He understood now, why you'd flinched away that final time. Why you couldn't stand his touch. Anyone's touch. Not when the last time anyone had touched you had been _that_. He keeps playing it over and over again in his head, those images burned into his brain forever.

Now, another two weeks after you'd gone off the grid, you were in the wind. There is not a doubt in his mind that you're alive. If you could survive all that, then he knows you're alright. There's a conceited part of him that's convinced that he would feel it if you were dead. Like somehow his soul would be untethered entirely, alerting him to your demise long before seeing your body for confirmation.

There's a heavy stone on his heart, crushing it under its weight. Unmoving. Stagnant. Every breath he takes without knowing where you are, how you are – it feels wasted.

The helplessness of the situation rattles in his limbs, making him restless as his foot taps against the floor. He needs to do something. They needed some leads. Neither you nor Easter had resurfaced on any public cameras or any of the numerous private cameras Garcia had also employed. He cannot go to Philadelphia to look for you himself, for fear that he might put you in more danger.

His eyes itch from exhaustion as he runs a hands tiredly over his face. His hair flops down onto his forehead and as he brushes it back, he's reminded of the soft silly smile you get when you see him right when he gets out of the shower. The sweet way you bounce over, pushing his wet hair back for him, before peppering his chest with kisses as though wanting to cover him entirely in you.

Some days he wakes up the next morning to find lipstick marks from anywhere you'd kissed him, having lingered from the night before. Those days, he slips on a shirt, carefully covering the marks beneath an undershirt. He tells himself its for safekeeping. He likes keeping your mark on him. It's like carrying a piece of you with him throughout the day. Those are the days he feels just a little more buoyant, he smiles a little bit more, and at night when he comes home and undresses, he loves seeing your mark on him still. Like you're a part of him. Aaron doesn't think he'd ever get a tattoo, but if he did it would be of your lipstick marks on his skin, right above his heart.

Now – now he doesn't know if he'll ever see those marks on his skin again.

"Hotch."

He looks up, broken from his thoughts, at the sound of Morgan's voice, to see him standing in the doorway to the backyard. He's holding car keys in his hand, and Aaron immediately stands up.

"What is it?" he asks, already making his way towards the door.

"Easter just checked in at Quantico."


	53. In the Shadows

Derek watches Hotch out of the corner of his eye as he drives as quickly as possible towards Quantico. The news that Easter had resurfaced was the best news they'd had about you and they'd all felt that collective rush of what felt vaguely like hope, flicker through them. It didn't say anything about how you were, and yet, you'd been seated right next to Easter moments before the bomb had gone off. It would stand to reason that if he had survived it, then so had you.

Hotch was staring out the window while Derek storms through traffic, his mind still reeling from everything that they'd all seen. This was worse than Prentiss and Doyle. The image of you, strapped down to a table and begging with them to let you go – that was going to haunt him forever. He could only imagine what it was doing to Hotch. Hotch who, it seemed hadn't taken a real breath since they'd all seen the bomb go off the day before. Who had already been looking worse and was distracted when the two of them had worked out during the last week or so. Whose barometer for handling stressful situations was the highest Derek had ever seen, and yet the past 24 hours had shaken him beyond belief.

Derek had seen the light leave his eyes when the video of the bomb and turned black. Had watched as he tried in vain to get answers as to your whereabouts. Though one thing had bothered him – why hadn't Hotch just asked someone higher up. McKinney had to have some way of getting in touch with you or Easter even if the two of you were working a deep cover. It was only after, at the house when Hotch had left to go sit outside, that he'd voiced his question and Rossi had told him that you'd broken it off. That you hadn't warned Hotch at all, and Strauss had dropped off the paperwork at his desk. Derek had felt himself blanch at that. With the added context of everything Easter had put you through, it made some sense what you'd been trying to do. But Hotch hadn't known that. Not then. The man had spent the last couple weeks living in a house that was a shrine to the two of you, thinking that you'd just ended everything. Derek's not sure how he would take something like that. Would he have the faith to believe it had nothing to do with the two of you? Wait it out until you were back and could explain? He's not sure he'd be cut out for something like that.

He meets Prentiss's eye in the rearview mirror as she's seated in the backseat with Rossi. JJ, Reid, and Garcia had stayed behind to continue digging into the Atlantis files and see what they could find. Garcia was convinced that if you'd left them the email how you had, then there had to be more. You must've left them something else to help them find you.

Prentiss's gaze slips from him, over to Hotch who's seated in the passenger seat, dead quiet ever since he'd informed him that Easter had turned up. Derek doesn't have to ask to know what she's thinking. They're all worried about him. The man was an enigma in the best of times. _Now?_ All bets were off.

Now, after having seen everything that they had, Derek can only imagine the various scenes playing in Hotch's head. The numerous ways he has to be considering just killing Easter with his bare hands. If they didn't need Easter to find you, Derek would help. He had a few ways of his own to help Easter experience even half the amount of suffering he'd made you endure. However, be that as it may, the fact remained that right then, they needed Easter. They couldn't afford to piss him off if they were going to get answers. They couldn't afford to get thrown out of the Bureau or arrested for assaulting him unprovoked.

Derek knows what he would do if something happened to Savannah and he's acutely aware of the depth of what Hotch feels for you. The man _smiled_ around you – had ever since you'd joined. When they'd all worried that he'd become a complete loner and even surlier after the divorce, somehow you'd prevented that from happening. When Haley had died – you'd still been that person for him to go to. Derek knew that in that time, both Hotch and his son had become familiar with the spare rooms at your place. If Derek hadn't known you better, he would've thought the two of you were hooking up a long time ago.

None of them needed to know what the two of you talked about – what you saw in a guy over a decade older than you whose idea of a good time was filling out a case report probably. All they needed to know was that there was something about you that kept Hotch from becoming the worst version of himself. When the two of you had finally gotten together, it had felt like some sort of inevitability to the rest of them. Maybe you hadn't known, but they always had in some way. Even when you were dating other dudes and even when you and Hotch were just friends, they'd all known to some extent.

Derek clears his throat as he pulls into the parking garage leaning back, and turns to Hotch with a concerned expression on his face. "Hotch, you know you can't kill Easter, right? I know you want to, man. Hell, we all do. But you can't. Yeah?" He raises his chin up, confirming if Hotch understood what he was asking, hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel. 

Hotch's hands are tightly balled fists on his thighs and Derek exchanges another worried glance with both Prentiss and Rossi as he turns the car off and the four of them exit the vehicle. Hotch still hasn't said anything.

Derek knows that he has to step up. Hotch can't be the one to deal with all of this and still be the guy in charge. As Hotch rounds the car, Derek quickly grabs his arms and lightly pushes him against it to stop him. He meets Hotch's impassive look, as though he wasn't even really bothered by Derek manhandling him like that. "Hotch, I know you want to beat the ever living crap out of that asshole, but he's the best lead we have to her right now. He's the last person we know that saw her. We need to get him to tell us everything that he knows and we need him to help us. You get that, right?" Derek's eyes search Hotch's for understanding, still holding him tight against the car. Behind him, Derek knows that both Rossi and Prentiss are watching, their breath held tight. They all need to know that he understands. It's quiet and tense for a few seconds. Derek watches as he swallows, a harsh breath leaving him as he nods to assure them all that he understands. That he'll keep it together and not commit murder inside a federal building.

Derek looks at him for another beat before releasing him with a quick nod, and the four of them briskly continue towards the elevators and straight up to the floor that McKinney's office is on. Garcia was tracking his visitor badge and had informed them that that was where he had headed only moments before.

*------------*

Derek walks behind Hotch and Rossi, keeping pace with Prentiss as the four of them exited the elevators and headed towards Director McKinney's office. He has an eye on Hotch – they all do.

Rossi brushes them all past McKinney's assistant – Derek remembers you mentioning that her name was Gladys when you'd been searching for a snow globe for her at the airport in New York – despite her protests, insisting that the Director was in a meeting. They knew exactly what meeting he was in. Prentiss takes the assistant aside deftly, explaining that it was an emergency situation and that the Director would surely understand the interruption. Looking past where Prentiss was talking to the woman, Derek sees the mini snow globes lining the shelves on the wall behind her desk. He can just barely pick out the small red one you'd picked out for her, the empire state building and a yellow taxicab at the center. Neither Hotch nor Rossi spare a glance to the assistant as Rossi knocks and then doesn't bother waiting for an answer, quickly opening the door. Both Derek and Prentiss are quick to walk in behind them, before the door shuts in Gladys's disgruntled face.

McKinney looks up from behind his desk, startled at the intrusion. He stands quickly. "What is going on?"

Easter stands too and Derek watches Hotch tensing even more, as if he wasn't wound tight as it were. He shares a quick look with Prentiss, looking around at the room. Neither of them had ever been inside McKinney's office before.

"Walter," Rossi starts, deciding it was best for him to take the lead, "I believe we need to be part of this conversation between you and Agent Easter." He turns towards Easter before continuing. "Where is she? Is she alright?"

Easter stays quiet, deferring to McKinney to intervene.

Director McKinney looks between Easter and the rest of them, his brow furrowing in question. "Dave, I don't know why the BAU is barging in on this meeting – "

"Is she alive?" Hotch interrupts, his eyes focused solely on Easter, who is leaned back on his heels, an odd expression on his face,.

He shrugs in response to Hotch, far too casually for any of their liking. "As far as I know, yeah. She's alive." His posture and tone suggesting that he could care less whether or not you're alive.

"How do we know _you_ don't have her locked up somewhere?" Derek speaks up then. He can't believe anything that came out of Easter's mouth. Not anymore. Not after everything they'd seen.

Easter's eyes narrow at the question but he appears appropriately taken aback. "Why would you think _I_ would have her?" he asks carefully, looking around at all of them, his back straightening ever so much more.

"Because it wouldn't be the first time you locked her up somewhere," Emily retorts, walking up closer to him, past both Rossi and Hotch, her eyes narrowed with barely held hatred and rage. She's looking at her old boss with entirely new eyes.

McKinney seems surprised at that, alerting them to the possibility that he might not be privy to Easter's preferred methods of testing his coworkers. "Agent Prentiss, that is a serious accusation."

"Which can be backed up with proof, Walter." Rossi looks at his former friend who had risen far beyond him from their early days starting out in Bureau training together. Wordlessly imploring him to rely on their shared history and trust him in that moment. The two of them look at one another as McKinney takes stock of the situation at hand. He looks at the four agents standing in front of him and then looks at Easter, whose stance has become far more guarded in the past minute, as though ready to defend himself against any one of them.

McKinney clears his throat and addresses the four of them once again. "Agent Easter was just about to begin briefing me on the most recent developments regarding the assignment that Agent L/N was on. However, the details of the assignment – "

"Director, with all due respect, we are all aware of the details of Project Atlantis. I'm sure that's something we can address at a later point, however I think it might be best if we all speak candidly to understand what exactly is going on here," Hotch interjects, effectively cutting off McKinney's attempt at brushing them all away.

McKinney's eyebrows raise as he's met with the Hotch that Derek is used to. He was in usual form now, after having learned that - at the very least - you're alive. His shoulders are back, he's standing tall, his jaw is tensed – he's in control once more. That was the boss he was used to having in his corner.

McKinney appraises them all once more, all thoughts and feelings on the matter hidden behind an impassive mask. He wasn't the Director of the FBI for no reason. He had to be fuming at how easily Hotch had admitted to them all knowing everything about Atlantis – despite them being warned off from it. Hell, Garcia had nearly been charged with treason for breaking into the files. Now here Hotch was, just admitting they knew all about it.

"Given that my current priority is to ensure that Agent L/N is brought back safe," – McKinney comes out from behind his desk and walks towards the larger conference table at one side of the large room – "I will allow you to stay for Agent Easter's report."

Easter makes a noise of dissent at that, but he's quickly silenced with a look from McKinney, who gestures them all to the table.

"Agent Easter, we have limited resources to spare given the events in Philadelphia. If the BAU is offering itself as a resource, then I believe you would be wise to take them up on it." McKinney stares down Easter as they all grab chairs around the table, Hotch seating himself directly across from McKinney while both Emily and Rossi made sure that Easter couldn't grab a chair beside Hotch.

Easter has a deeply pissed off expression on his face as he looks at them all seated around the table. It was plainly obvious that he'd been counting on having this conversation with McKinney on his won.

However, after a few more seconds and with a deep breath, Easter pulls out a file and puts two photographs – a man and a woman – side by side. "These are Agents Cavanaugh and Novak of the CIA. Their work history is classified, however they both retired and settled down in the east coast under new identities under the charter of Project Atlantis. Last week, they both disappeared and their new identities popped up in a missing persons' report, which was flagged by our systems. L/N and I have been following similar cases across Europe with ex MI6, DGSE, and Interpol agents also under the protectorate of Atlantis. These agents typically end up being sold as counter-intelligence assets to the Chinese, the Russians, you name it. We had been working to figure out how their acquisition and sale was being handled and we were at the jazz club, posing as potential buyers."

Derek shares a look with Emily as they process everything Easter just said. It definitely explained a lot about the level of secrecy around the project and the subsequent reaction to the files being hacked by Garcia. It also implied that the case they had been working on was somehow linked to this, but that was a secondary problem.

At McKinney's nod, Easter continues. "We received a text message asking us to meet outside, which was a change in the original plan. However, we made a calculated decision to comply, and as soon as we stepped out into the back alley, the restaurant blew up and they'd been waiting for us outside."

"Why blow up the restaurant? What does that achieve?" Rossi asks, his fingers interlaced together as he looks at Easter, his forehead knitted together.

Easter offers a vague shrug and grimace. "Not entirely sure. There's a few options – either it was to show us how serious they are. That they don't mind collateral damage nor are they worried about repercussions. Or it was a way to make it seem – "

" – as though you're dead," Emily finishes, following where he was leading.

Easter nods.

"What would that accomplish? Do you think your cover was blown?"

Easter sighs, before looking once more at McKinney, and they all tense, realizing that whatever came next was likely the reason he hadn't wanted them there during this conversation with the Director.

Ignoring Emily's question, Easter continues. "They covered our heads and next thing I know we're tied up somewhere. She was next to me and we were both trying to get out, but not being able to see, we weren't sure what we could do. A man came in and he – he spoke to them, in Greek, I believe. Couldn't understand him. Next thing I know, I can hear them undoing her bindings and taking off the bag on her head."

"But not yours?" Derek questions, a growing feeling on unease creeping in.

Easter shakes his head. "He knew her. She recognized him – called him _Uncle_ Erasmus."

"Erasmus Jansen?" McKinney's eyebrows rise up while the rest of them look on, confused.

"Yes." Easter turns back to the rest of them after answering McKinney's question. "The CIA confirmed, during its investigation, that Jansen was part of her father's organization – he was probably third or fourth in command."

Derek's bad feeling was confirmed and he can see Hotch tensing at that.

"What happened after that?" McKinney asks, giving Easter his utmost attention now.

"Not sure. They left the room. Next thing I know, she's back. Some other guy took the bag off of my head and she was standing in front of me with a gun in her hand."

"They gave her a gun?" Rossi's surprise was plain to hear in his voice.

"Yes. And she shot me. Twice."

The stunned silence in the room was deafening. Derek looks up and meets Hotch's eye, knowing they're both thinking the same thing. You'd shot him. You'd shot him twice. Yet, Easter sat there looking perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him. You don't miss - not if you'd meant to kill.

"You were wearing a vest?" Emily asks, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah, a thin one. She didn't know I was wearing a vest. She shot me dead center. Knocked me out. By the time I came to, the entire place was cleared out, as if no one had been there at all."

"What are you trying to say, Agent Easter?" McKinney asks, his voice low as he appraises the man seated beside him. His posture has changed, any relaxed manner from earlier gone.

"I'm saying, Agent L/N is the mole. She's been her father's plant from the very beginning."

*------------*

It is pin drop silent in the room after Easter's accusation had thundered through. Derek squares his shoulders and tilts backwards from the table with a silent scoff, his incredulity mirrored by both Rossi and Prentiss. Hotch just seems shocked, as though he couldn't quite believe the turn this entire conversation had taken.

The Director, however, was leaning in towards Easter with a great deal of interest and both Derek and Prentiss note that, exchanging worried looks. Hotch wasn't making eye contact with any of them, still looking just past Easter.

"You believe that Agent L/N has been undercover for the entirety of her tenure with the Bureau?" McKinney's hands are knitted together and placed on the table, his lips pressed tight as he appraises Easter's assertion.

"Everything points towards that, yes. Her family background. The fact that she was recognized by the people who took us. That she shot me at their instruction and left me for dead." Easter's delivery was cool and detached. It almost sounded like he expected you to have been the mole.

"You're alive though," Prentiss reminds him. "She had to have known you were wearing a vest."

There's a silent standoff between the two of them while Derek watches Hotch, processing the gravity of what Easter was implying. If what he was saying was true, then that meant that you had been a plant from the very beginning. That you'd duped them all into picking you to be on the team. That you'd become friends with all of them, been their confidante. Hell, you were in a relationship with their Unit Chief. You slept in his bed. Shared his home. You'd infiltrated all of their lives, all as a front for your father and his business. That was what Easter was insinuating.

Derek was perhaps the only person in the world who had eyewitness testimony to exactly how untrue that was. How unlikely it was that you would ever do anything for your father. How implausible the suggestion of you choosing to do that man's bidding. However, he couldn't exactly share that the sole reason your father was buried six feet under with a bullet in his brain was because of you. You and your raw, unfettered hatred for the man. They'd all kept that under wraps for a reason and now wasn't the time to start blurting out that particular truth.

"The facts are," Easter finally breaks the silence, "she is friendly with the guys that blew up an entire restaurant. She was recognized by them. She was released by them. Instead of helping me and getting us both out, she shot me in the chest. I think it's fair to say that whatever she's doing, her plan isn't to come back."

"If her plan was to not come back, she would've made sure that you were dead," Derek counters, his shoulders set and tone confident. "It doesn't help her to have you running around saying she's the mole. It would've been better if she just killed you and came back the hero that escaped. Keep the cover in place."

_If you had wanted Easter dead, there'd be a bullet in his head and not conveniently lodged in the vest he just so happened to be wearing._

"Maybe there was a wrench thrown in their plans. Fact is, she's not here."

McKinney looks at Hotch and the rest of them, contemplating their stance as well as Easter's accusation in tandem. Derek knows that the Director was looking at Hotch differently - putting their whole team under the microscope on the off chance that Easter's accusation was right. Because if it was, it meant that a mole had infiltrated the FBI, right under the noses of the Bureau's top profilers. The idea was ridiculous. No one could pull off a deception like that - not to the degree that Easter was accusing you of. Hell, even Prentiss had only lasted a year as Doyle's fake girlfriend.

"Y/N is not a mole," Hotch asserts quietly to McKinney, speaking up for the first time since Easter's preposterous accusation. Derek can feel the restraint in his tone, the calm sureness of his statement. It radiated sincerity and that he has to admire that. In the face of this kind of scrutiny, when you'd given him nothing to hold onto, he still had that kind of faith in you. "I can guarantee that."

McKinney looks carefully at Hotch, and it's plain to see that he's weighing both sides carefully – Easter's accusation brought out of months of working together, only to be shot by you. Or so he claimed. Or his own team of profilers with an excellent history of being right. Derek can just begin to see McKinney start to nod, when Easter decides to inject his opinion in.

"Well, let's just say I'm not comfortable taking the word of the guy whose dick she's been wetting this whole time," Easter jabbed with an eyeroll, his face contorted with derision.

Derek was on his feet in an instant. "Watch your mouth!" Both Prentiss and Rossi had retorted as well, their words drowned out as Derek turned to look at Hotch again, who had remained seated. His jaw was tensed completely, a tick there the only evidence that he'd heard what Easter had said. The restraint on that man was unreal.

McKinney quiets everyone quickly and gives a warning to Easter, his expression uncertain as he looks between the two groups. Derek sees him take a deep breath and lean in towards them, and knows that he's come to a decision. He can only hope it is one that allows them the time to find you.

"The BAU knows Agent L/N well and I still think they would be helpful in bringing her back. Any judgments regarding her culpability shall be made after she's brought in. Agent Easter, you will work with – "

Easter cuts him off. "I'll have my own team work on this. They can work it too, but you'll understand if I don't exactly trust them to bring her in properly."

McKinney's expression is marred with displeasure at his instructions being ignored, however he nods, allowing it for the time being.

Easter stands, ready to take his leave. As he comes around to the table, he takes something out of his pocket. "She's not coming back, mate. Pretty sure she left this for you." With that, he sets something down with a thunk on to the table right in front of Hotch, before striding out.

Derek recognizes the chain and locket that sat on the table in front of Hotch, the emerald shining brilliantly in the sunlight. You'd worn it every single day since Hotch had given it to you. He remembers you telling them it had been a birthday present, your fingers curling around it as you spoke, your eyes admiring it while your face broke out into a relaxed grin. He watches Hotch as the man reaches out to grab it. For the first time, Derek sees something akin to hope fill his eyes.

*------------*

"We think we have a lead."

Those were the first words out of Garcia's mouth when Morgan had called in to ask for updates. The four of them in the car quickly exchange a look before Morgan gives Garcia the go ahead.

"Spencer remembered something that Y/N said to him while we were in New York," JJ begins quickly.

"When we were in New York, Y/N was on the phone and she asked me to remember an address for her, and said she'd ask me for it later. I had assumed it was related to the case at the time, and since she didn't have a pen on her, she just wanted me to remember it." Reid's frantic explanation squawks through the speakers on the phone.

Rossi notes Aaron's agitated state before turning back to the phone. "The point, kid."

"It's to a storage facility here in Virginia. Garcia pulled up the manifest of storage owners and there's a name on there – "

"Blare Sky Hoo," Garcia interjects

"It's an anagram – " Reid continues "– for Haley Brooks."

Aaron feels his heart beat pick up. That sounded exactly like something you'd do if you were leaving clues meant specifically for them – for _him._ You were leading them to you. The knowledge that you'd relied on Reid's ability to remember an offhand address that you'd told him months prior was something he chose not to focus on at the time being. After he finds you, then he was going to have a talk with you about over relying on Reid. It also doesn't escape his notice that you'd told Reid this in New York. Started building your failsafe months prior. In hindsight, it explained so much – how tired and spent you seemed anytime you were home. All of this had to have been weighing heavily on your mind. For months now. You knew – even back then – that there was a chance everything could go wrong. You'd planned accordingly.

"Another thing we found is a folder in the partition of the drive that only Y/N owned. It's an empty folder with nothing in it, titled _Lady L."_

"Does that mean anything?" Morgan asks, his confused glance matching Aaron's.

"Well," Reid answers, "Lady L is likely a reference to Lady Lazarus. It's a poem by Sylvia Plath – Y/N and I have discussed her work at length. Plath wrote this poem only two months prior to her suicide. It's a reference to Lazarus, who in the Gospel of John, was raised from the dead by Jesus – the main theme being one of resurrection."

"An empty folder, huh." Rossi looks at Aaron and Morgan before they all turn to look at Prentiss.

She meets their eyes for a second before turning back towards the phone. "You think it has something to do with me?"

"It would stand to reason," Reid says. "The empty folder. Your empty coffin. The resurrection from the dead."

"She helped your mom pick out the headstone," Morgan recalls. Aaron can see the guilt from that flitting across Prentiss's face briefly.

"In New York, she said – " Prentiss's voice cracks as she meets Aaron's eyes "– she said I only get one. One funeral. After the fire."

Aaron manages to offer her a look of commiseration, as Morgan instructs Garcia to send over the address to the storage facility. They'd stop at the cemetery on the way.

As Morgan pulls out of the parking garage, Aaron's fingers latch on to the chain sitting in his pocket, the metal cool beneath his fingertips, his thumb rubbing against the stone of the locket. Easter was wrong. That necklace didn't mean that you'd left. His mind flits back to that day at the airport when the three of you had been on your way to Paris. Your soft voice, lips turned upwards into a flirty, sweet smile that set his heart aflutter. Your words echoed in his head. _Hang on to that, will you? I'll come back for it._

*------------*

It had taken them an hour or so to drive from Quantico, to the cemetery, and they now stood outside the storage unit that Garcia had directed them to. In Morgan's hand was a key that had been wedged into a slot in Prentiss's headstone that still stood there. Aaron has a feeling you'd spent quite a bit of time there during his mission in Pakistan. The thought of you going and sitting by Prentiss's grave after he'd abandoned you has a ripple of guilt rolling through him.

"There's a second lock," Prentiss points out as Morgan goes to unlock the one towards the right with the key.

Aaron looks to the other side and sees a four digit combination lock. Before Morgan has a chance to dial up Garcia and Reid to get them to start running through possible combinations, on a whim, he leans down and enters the passcode from the safe at home. His fingers roll the metal wheels and get each of the numbers aligned, and he pulls. _No luck._

There's a quick flash of smooth skin and elegant black script in his head – delicate flesh that his fingers have brushed over countless times. Ink that his lips have hovered over, caressed. Numbers traced by his tongue, with only the faint morning sunlight to help guide the path.

Quickly, he tries again, shifting the metal wheels once more and realigning those four numbers with the arrows. With a click, it falls open.

He looks up to see the rest of them looking at him and he simply shrugs, before both him and Morgan hoist up the door by the handles, the action causing the metal to clang and echo down the hallways.

Prentiss has her flashlight out and Morgan is quick to find the light switch, bathing the 10x15 room in yellow light. In front of them are boxes and boxes, the room filled to the ceiling. They each grab a box. Prentiss manages to find one that had been sitting near the top that had been left in slight disarray and she focuses on that one. Beside Aaron, both Rossi and Morgan have grabbed a box each as well.

It's quiet for a little bit as the four of them look for anything that could be helpful. Aaron finds himself looking up frequently. You had to have had this stuff for years now, likely only having changed the name on the roster recently. This room held a lot of your past from before the two of you had met. In one corner, he can see the motorcycle you'd told him about from your training years, the handles jutting out from underneath the blue tarp covering. There's another large crate that they haven't gotten to yet, since they'd need a crowbar to get it open.

"I think it's research," Prentiss suggests, her eyes still reading through the paperwork in her hand. "Research on her father and his businesses."

Aaron nods. That made sense – you might've abandoned your revenge against him, but you'd kept everything you'd found. Based on what they'd learned from Easter, that your father's friend was involved, it must've jogged something in your memory while you'd been working on this case. Something had to have felt familiar to you.

"Yeah, this has a lot of stuff on shell corporations and property that's registered under each of them," Morgan adds, pointing to the box that he had been looking over.

Rossi stands from his crouched position, dusting off his pants before placing his hands on his hips and surveying the landscape in front of them. "Y/N wouldn't have led us here for no reason. If her father was involved and she had information like this on him, then there's a chance that the people he used to work with still own and use those properties. Somewhere in these boxes is the answer to where she might be right now"

Rossi was right, but it was starting to feel overwhelming. They were never going to make it through it all. There had to be over fifty boxes in there. Even with Reid's ability to read at the speed of light, they'd never make it through quickly enough or know what mattered enough.

Mind made up in an instant, Aaron stands straight, drawing the attention of the rest of them. Dialing Garcia, he puts the phone on speaker so that the rest of them can hear as well.

Garcia picks up immediately with a quick - for her - greeting and asks what he needs. "Garcia, can you please get me information on Johnathan Hawthorne?"

Morgan's eyebrows raise as Prentiss's brow crinkles, the both of them having stopped their perusal of their share of the boxes and waiting to hear back from Garcia. He can hear the tapping of the keyboard as she quickly looks up everything she could.

After a minute or so, her voice is back with a crackle. "Johnathan Hawthorne, 35. Resides in Midtown Manhattan. Columbia law school - he clerked for Supreme Court Justice McGuire. Left a lucrative partnership at Bain & Ross three and a half years ago and has been with the New York state's District Attorney's office ever since. Highest conviction rate of any ADA there," she rattles off quickly.

Aaron starts - both at the McGuire clerkship as well as at the news that John was now an ADA. He doesn't have the time to process that the change had followed yours and John's final time together by a mere six months. You'd broken it off and six months later the guy had changed his entire life. He doesn't have the time to wonder at the implication of that.

"Garcia, get me his direct line. Now."


End file.
